


A Collection of Firsts

by worrylesswritemore



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Asexuality, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Picks up right after the musical left off, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Slice of Life, basically a series of snapshots that all strung together make a cohesive story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-10-19 21:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrylesswritemore/pseuds/worrylesswritemore
Summary: After breaking away from the Church, Kevin Price knew he would be experiencing a series of firsts in his life. He just never expected Elder McKinley to be involved in so many of them.A brief look at the many firsts shared between Connor and Kevin in their rapidly evolving relationship.





	1. First Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! This is my first chaptered fic in the BoM fandom, so I'm kinda excited yet kinda stressed?? I promise that I'll update as frequently as I can. This fic idea came to me just this morning and I wrote this in about two hours, so mistakes are all mine and you have my apologies.  
> The concept of this fic is basically going to be that each chapter will be a snapshot of moments in Connor and Kevin's developing relationship that will probably encompass years of their lives (and yes, each moment will be in chronological order). My (scarily brief) outline right now includes around twelve chapters, but it might change.  
> I hope you enjoy!  
> 

The sealed envelope rests defiantly on Kevin's cot, slightly waterlogged and tattered with one of the corners torn away to reveal the neatly folded sheet of paper that lies within it. Kevin moves it back to its previous location of under his pillow, but it doesn't erase the mere knowledge of its presence from his mind as it does his sight. He's read the outside of the envelope hundreds of times by now, the words written in the familiar scrawl of his mother filed away in his mind along with wasteful verses of Scripture he'd memorized that are now more or less useless. _Kevin Price,_ it reads along with their Ugandan village's address and nothing else—giving no clue as to what the letter might entail, whether it's a plea for reconciliation or scorn for his abandonment or a curt, cutting goodbye for forever. At his sides, his fingers twitch with anticipation even though his stomach simultaneously sours with dread. 

The envelope was delivered to him nearly a month ago, just one week after the Mission President's visit and subsequent excommunication of the Ugandan branch. Word has traveled fast of the missionaries' falls from grace, he knows. Nearly every other elder has received some letter by now—each varying in specific content but all accumulating to the same message: _disappointment_. And Kevin can't handle it, he _can't_ , because he'll take damning condemnations and barbed insults and punches to the gut, but he cannot stomach the confirmation of images that already flood his mind—his father's downcast eyes of dismay, his mother's tears of grief, his siblings' whispers of confusion. 

He knows that he needs the closure, as does his family. He's essentially an entire new person now—bitter and disillusioned but so unmistakably _kind_ when before his kindness was simply forced—and this letter is addressed to someone who's been long since dead, buried in the wet soil of the General's camp along with his God. He almost wants to write his own obituary and send it back home to allow his family to mourn the loss. _Elder Price died nearly one month ago today, leaving behind his parents and all seven of his siblings. He was a promising young Mormon who was determined to do something incredible by spreading the Good News of his faith. It is only poetic that his all-consuming belief led to his untimely demise. He was buried with his hair clean cut and uniform newly pressed. He believed with all his heart up until the point that he didn't._

He's just Kevin now, the stripping of the title of _Elder_ being somehow both a relief of pressure and a mournful loss of identity. He doesn't know how to be _Kevin_ yet, still figuring out what's left of him when he regurgitates all the ideologies and rehearsed charisma forced down his throat. 

He wants to write to his family. He wants to write about how he's doing okay. He wants to write about how some days are better than others but even the bad ones are a hell of a lot better than his days spent serving the Church. He wants to write about how they're all still so important to him, but he's found another home within the swampy jungles and the scorching heat. He wants to write about how this entire mission has been the worst and best thing to have ever happened to him. He wants to write about how now a devil wears his gaunt face and speaks of cynicism and heresy. He wants to write about how God doesn't exist, and even if he did, Kevin doesn't want anything to do with him. He wants to write _so many things,_ pages and pages worth of disillusionment and despondency and exhilaration and freedom chronicling the fall of the Great Elder Price and his rebirth into a bitter man who has finally accepted himself by rejecting everything he's ever known.

He won't write any of those things. Instead, he won't reply at all and the envelope will remain unopened and unread. There's one thing that Kevin and Elder Price have in common, he supposes: Cowardice. Honestly, it was probably the most genuine trait Elder Price ever had. 

Kevin thinks about moving the envelope back into view to start this never-ending cycle all over again, but then he hears the muffled cry of breakfast being ready. Beside him, Arnold finally stirs and lets out a huge yawn. And Kevin knows now to rub his eyes and put on a winning smile as if everything is okay, one habit of Elder Price living on after all.

The next time he falls apart, he'll be damned if he lets anyone witness the carnage.

:: - ::

Between writing down the Book of Arnold and seeking out new converts and helping the village regain its identity as a community rather than a regime, the days have begun to bleed together. Kevin sticks to Arnold's side more often than not even though they've gotten rid of most of the rules, including the one that once bound the two together. Arnold has become his anchor in addition to his best friend, the optimistic confidence to his cynical uncertainty. He helps Arnold fulfill his desires of building community centers and theaters along with churches, and he helps teach the new missionaries how to recruit potential converts, and he helps entertain the children by excitedly describing each plot of his favorite Disney movies when the parents needs breaks, and he helps in _any way he possibly can_ —in any way that makes him indispensable and _needed_ as a vain attempt to feel whole and purposeful again. And even though sometimes it _hurts_ and he'll get so tired and strung out that he just wants to drop to his knees and _cry_ , he bites the inside of his cheek and smiles because that's what's expected of him and Kevin is _nothing_ if not dependable.

Sitting on the small porch of their hut in the scorching heat, Kevin tirelessly works on whittling a caricature of Pinocchio to aid in his next retelling. The other elders have gone out supposedly to "preach," but he can almost guarantee that they've all migrated to the nearest pond in order to escape the particularly insufferable heat of today. They invited him to join, but he dismissed them with an awkward, eye-averting shake of his head. He hasn't forgotten the first impression he made on them—the arrogant, hot-heated ass of a "savior"—and though they have seemed to forgiven him for it, Kevin rebuffs any attempt of inclusion. It's more out of politeness that they do these sorts of thing, and Kevin wants nothing to do with _pity_. He still has _some_ salvaged pride, after all.

He's so focused on getting the hat of the figure _just right_ that he startles at the sudden creak of the wooden porch. He turns to find Elder McKinley poised on the front steps, looking at him with an apologetic smile, "Didn't mean to frighten you, Elder."

Kevin shrugs and redirects his gaze to the half-carved figure, "It's fine." He means it sincerely, but his words somehow come out as barbed. 

Rather than resuming his business, Elder McKinley just stands awkwardly and asks after a pause, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to make a Pinocchio." Kevin holds out the figure with a self-deprecating tilt in his mouth, " _Trying_ be the key word."

"Well, as long as you get the nose right, nothing else matters." He tries to assure him, prompting Kevin to scoff.

"I thought as much about Dumbo with his ears," He thinks back fondly with only minimal spite about the confusion and harassment of the children that day, "It didn't go over well."

Elder McKinley shrugs, "People who say that your worst critic is yourself have obviously never dealt with young, brutally honest children. That's why I'd take homicidal war lords over kids any day." His smile dropping, Kevin remembers the General's rough laughter and strong grip, and his body turns cold. He forces the memory out of his head, but he's already nearly snapped the figure in two with his sudden grip. Wincing, he drops the figure and looks down at the thick splinters in his hand.

"Here. Let me see." Elder McKinley is close to him in an instant, holding out his hand with a clear expression of concern on his face. Kevin wants to refuse, but he finds himself nodding numbly anyway and letting the other's hand close around his wrist. The warmth of his hand pressed against his bare skin thaws Kevin's ice cold veins, and it distracts him from the slight tremors of pain as Elder McKinley methodically picks each sliver of wood from his palm.

"It's a good carving, Elder Price. No need to destroy it in fear of criticism." Elder McKinley tells him wryly, and it's far away from the real truth but Kevin doesn't correct him.

Instead, he just says quietly, "Don't call me that." Realizing he mumbled, he clears his throat and explains more clearly, "It's Kevin. I prefer that."

"Okay," Elder McKinley steps back and instructs, "Don't go anywhere. I think there's some rubbing alcohol in the cabinet." 

And Kevin is alone again, now with a stinging palm and dry mouth. He takes this time to reflect on the fact that he's never really given Elder McKinley much thought up until now. Even in their first introduction, he was too consumed with his own misery to really give the man more than a fleeting glance and offhanded acknowledgement of his authority as District Leader. _He's a person,_ he reminds himself, _with personality and goals and insecurities just like me_. It's embarrassing that Kevin has to continually remind himself that other people are not simply two-dimensional background characters in the Epic of Kevin Price, but at least he's aware of his flaws and has since tried to correct them.

Elder McKinley returns only moments later and dabs the pricks with alcohol, smiling slightly at the way Kevin hisses at the pain, "Come on. It's not so bad."

"Speak for yourself," Kevin grumbles before sighing and saying flatly, "Thank you, Elder McKinley."

"I prefer Connor," He says, mimicking Kevin's earlier tone, "And you're welcome, Kevin. I'm always glad to help." It's the sincere way he says it too, with his eyes wide and head ducked. Distantly, Kevin wonders if maybe he isn't the only person who needs to feel needed around here.

"Why aren't you with the other elders?" Kevin asks, trying to keep the conversation going. Now that he has company, he doesn't feel the appeal of being alone again.

"I was," Elder McKinley—No, _Connor_  tells him, "But with my complexion, I can only stay out there so long before I turn into a lobster and Sister Hatimbi threatens to boil me for a feast."

Kevin huffs a laugh, "That sounds like her."

"You should go out there for awhile," Connor says, "Arnold keeps asking about you and wondering if he and Sister Hatimbi should go and kidnap you."

"You'd protect me, right?" Kevin flashes him a crooked grin, the one he's always used to get something he wants (though for the life of him, he doesn't know what he could possibly want in this situation), and Connor suddenly flushes. He doesn't dwell on why the sight makes his stomach turn pleasantly.

"I don't know. Sister Hatimibi is pretty scrappy for a girl her size." He licks his lips and only stutters a little when he asks coyly, "What's in it for me?" Shrugging, Kevin holds out the pathetic wooden figurine as a bargaining chip.

The newly burst of light behind Connor's eyes fade, as if Kevin's nonverbal response had been some sort of cop out, but his smile doesn't dim as he says, "I couldn't possibly accept that. It's for the children."

"I want you to have it," And he finds that he actually means it, pushing it into Connor's hands, "A token of my appreciation." Looking down, Conner turns it over and over in his hands, his smile turning softer in the fading sunlight. 

"It's incredible. Thank you." And even though the compliment is probably hollow, Kevin preens just a little.

:: - ::

After a little while, the days get easier. Kevin slows down in his pace and regains his footing in the village after his critical misstep in his first impression. He finds himself actually starting to believe in this whole _Latter Day Means Tomorrow_ philosophy that they've been preaching. He starts to laugh more easily and build tentative friendships with the other elders. He slowly starts to understand what it means to be _Kevin_ , a separate identity from the Church. It's still a struggle and some days are harder than others, but he's got friends behind him and a home to go at the end of the day. It's more than he could ever hope for.

He has his hands buried in the garden behind their hut, planting some seeds of flowers that he'd traded his tie and some Ibuprofen pills for. They'll look out of place next to their existing crops of beans and rice, but Kevin has already gotten the go ahead from the others so the aesthetics don't really matter. Connor joins him when he's halfway finished and rolls his sleeves up, bending down and speeding up the process. They spend a about twenty minutes at work in silence before Kevin says airily, "It's so exhausting."

"Gardening?" Connor asks, to which Kevin shakes his head.

"Pretending to be okay all the time." He frowns at his dirt caked nails, momentarily distracted, before adding, "I don't know how you do it."

Connor stiffens beside him, and Kevin looks over to see his eyes wide with surprise. Apparently, it had never occurred to him that all those days that he spent watching Kevin, Kevin might have started watching him, too.

He expects Connor to rebuff him or pass it off as a joke, but he pleasantly surprises him by admitting, "Lots of practice."

Kevin bumps his shoulder and smiles at him, a smile that Connor hesitantly returns. Breaking the moment, Kevin looks around at the clay soil and the scorching sun and asks, "Do you think they'll grow?"

"I don't know," Connor admits with a shrug, "But it'll be okay if they don't." And though he's talking about flowers, Kevin sees his response in a different context.

"Yeah," He agrees with a small smile, "It will be."

:: - :: 

That night, roughly six months since its delivery, Kevin takes out the letter and tears the envelope open with a deft swipe of his fingers. 


	2. First Tangerine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't turn out as originally intended, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. I promise next chapter will be longer and have more interactions (and more showing rather than telling in the narrative, which I feel like this chapter unfortunately did not accomplish).

“My turn,” Connor bites his lip and sweeps his gaze across the thick bushels of trees and tall grass flocking both sides of the winding dirt road, “I spy with my little eye something…gray.”

Kevin sighs and doesn’t even bother to look around, saying flatly, “It’s a rock— _again_.”

“Don’t get fussy,” Connor scolds with a lopsided smile at Kevin’s clear exasperation, “It’s not my fault I have _very_ limited options around here.”

“Let’s just call it a tie, alright?” Kevin compromises, shoulders relaxing in relief when Connor rolls his eyes but nods. The large wooden cart drags wobbly behind them, its wheels catching on the slight dips in the dirt and forcing the two boys to tug even harder. His arm is already starting to ache from lugging it; he can’t imagine how difficult it’ll be when it’s actually _carrying_ stuff.

Kevin turns his attention to Connor and opens his mouth to distract them both from the miserable heat, but his words are halted when he catches notice of the way Connor’s unkempt hair sticks to his damp forehead. _He needs a haircut,_ he thinks idly to himself, staring at the longish red strands that have curled around the nape of his neck. Kevin has no room to talk of his own, however, as he runs a hand through his tousled, shaggy hair in sudden self-awareness. They’ve all been too busy to keep up appearances, what with the increasing construction projects and yet another new burst of new baptisms. Kevin himself hasn’t even had a shower in—what— _three days_ due to the recent drought that has had all of the villagers warn them to preserve as much water as possible. He allows his eyes to stay trained on the tuffs of hair before pinning his gaze to the sky, sick with the realization that it’s already noon.

 “Are we almost there yet?” And no, Kevin doesn’t _whine,_ but given the way that Connor huffs and side-eyes him, he might as well have.

“C’mon, it’s not so bad out here,” Connor declares, rolling his shoulders, “I mean, would you have rather been stuck with cleaning duty today?” Kevin recalls the fuzzy, yellow mold that has grown in between various cracks of their hut and quickly shakes his head. After all, he could have sworn he saw part of it _moving_ when he was in the kitchen this morning.

“I could kill for a sundae,” Kevin thinks aloud idly, his stomach growling in assent, “With chocolate sauce and whipped cream and chunks of banana…”

Connor scoffs, smiling slightly, “We can check the market when we get there. They’re probably selling them right next to tickets to Disneyland.”

Kevin glares at him and lightly kicks at his feet, “Very funny.” He pauses, unable _not_ to add, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to go to Disney _land_. Disney World is _much_ better.”

Connor furrows his brow, “What’s the difference?”

 “It’s all about _location_.” Kevin informs him, “Disney World is in _Orlando_. You don’t even have to stop after Disney—you can go to _Sea World_ and _Epcot_ and there’s this one restaurant that’ll spell out your name in _whipped cream_ on your pancakes.”

“Sounds fun,” Connor concedes with a small chuckle at the wonderment in Kevin’s voice, shrugging his shoulders and admitting casually, “I’ve never been to either. Actually, I’ve never even left _Utah_ until my mission trip.”

“Really?” Kevin asks, “What did you do on summer vacations then?” Sure, Kevin’s family didn’t go to exotic places every year, but they always went _somewhere_ —be it to a beach or amusement park or even just to visit his aunt and uncle in Nebraska.

“Stayed at home,” Connor tells him, and his voice has an undercurrent of ice now—a development that has Kevin slow his buoyant pace, “My family was poor. We didn’t have the money to do all that stuff.”

“Oh,” Kevin awkwardly pulls at his collar, undoing one of the buttons and exposing his collarbone to the humid air, “Well, I mean—I’m not rich either. I didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t worry about it.” _Don’t pity me_ is the unspoken request to which Kevin gladly complies, glancing down and watching the way his worn shoes kick up the dry dust.

“I’d like to go someday,” Connor breaks the weird tension with the quiet admission, “Maybe I will after this is over.” It’s almost pathetic at how often Kevin forgets that all of this—the daily chores, the bible studies, the friends and home he’s made in this small village—still has an expiration date. He keeps thinking that somehow he’ll be able to stay in this bubble forever, never bearing witness to the consequences of his actions that have undoubtedly left a stain back home. The future—once mapped out so clearly down to every detail—has now been suspended in uncertainty and free will, and Kevin has still yet to decide he prefers.

“I don’t know what I’ll do after this,” Kevin says, mostly to himself, “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“That’s hard to believe,” At his questioning look, Connor explains, “You always seemed like the kind of guy who always had some sort of plan for everything.”

“I used to be,” Kevin’s mouth twists ruefully as he motions to his disheveled appearance, “Now I’m the kind of guy who hasn’t showered in days and spends his afternoon walking ten miles to a nearby village to get some fucking _toothpaste_.”

Connor seems to notice the vague pain on his face and bumps his shoulder, “I like that kind of guy better. The other one was a bit of a dick.”

Kevin’s comedic, mocking gasp is only somewhat feigned, “Did I hear the Innocent and Chaste Connor McKinley _swear_? Oh, _Holy_ Mission Leader, what will the other elders say?”

“Go ahead and tell them,” Connor challenges, smirking in a way that causes Kevin’s heart to oddly stutter a bit, “They won’t fucking believe you.” And the red-haired boy has to more or less pick a heaving, laughing Kevin up from the dirt after that one.

:: - ::

The market thankfully has every municipal item on their list, but unfortunately (as Kevin mumbles to Connor with a feigned grimace) no ice cream nor Disney tickets are anywhere to be seen. They end up finishing faster than anticipated, so the two boys decide to mill around for a few minutes before heading back. Connor talks one guy down and buys a cheap pair of sandals that seem definitely more forgiving on his feet than the standard black Oxfords. Kevin spends his last allowance on a bottle of questionable hair gel and only blushes a little when Connor laughs at him for it.

Along the way, they migrate over to one of the fruit vendors and goggle at the array of exotic fruits that neither have tried before. They begin an unspoken competition on who can find the weirdest fruit, holding up starfruits and jackfruits and ones that Kevin cannot correctly pronounce the name of even if he tried.

Not wanting to be bested, Kevin spies a small bundle of miniature oranges and holds it up defiantly, “Small oranges.”

Rather than looking miffed, Connor just stares at him in confusion, “You’re joking, right?”

“I mean, it’s not as exotic as jackfruit but we still don’t have them in America.” Kevin defends himself sharply, bristling at the way Connor seems to be fighting back laughter at his words.

“Kevin, you know that that’s a tangerine, right?” Connor’s smile drops at Kevin’s blank look, “You’ve never heard of a _tangerine_ before?” The sincere incredulousness in his voice causes Kevin to raise his defenses even higher.

“I don’t know. I guess it rings a bell,” He lies quite pathetically, adding curtly, “What’s the difference between them and oranges anyway?”

“Tangerines are sweeter and easier to peel. I practically lived off of these as a kid.” He reaches into his pocket and counts out a few coins before handing them to the vendor, “I’ll take half a dozen of tangerines, please.” After he’s handed the bag of the fruit, Connor digs one out and thrusts it in Kevin’s hands, “Try it.”

Kevin chuckles at the man’s eagerness, “Calm down. It’s not like it’s going to be some _life-changing_ experience.”

“You’re about to lose your citrus virginity,” Connor says somberly, though the corner of his mouth twitches, “That’s about as life-changing as it gets.”

Rolling his eyes, Kevin tears the skin off of the fruit and breaks off a section. He pops it into his mouth without hesitation. It tastes about the same as an orange—if a little less tart—but the way that Connor is gauging every facial muscle of Kevin’s face leads him to feign amazement.

“ _Definitely_ life-changing.” Kevin agrees with his mouth full, trying not to give away his insincerity.

Connor grins at him, the rare appearance of pride worming its way on the boy’s face, “I told you, Kevin. While you were off in Orlando, I was downing these suckers like candy.”

“I’ve been sorely missing out.” He plucks a few more sections in his mouth, addicted to the sight of that self-satisfied twist of Connor’s mouth. Tangerines are even juicier than that of oranges, and some of which ends up slipping from the corner of his mouth. Kevin goes to wipe it away, but Connor seems suddenly transfixed by it, his teasing smile dimming as he watches the juice travel down Kevin’s chin and splatter onto his exposed collarbone.

 _Oh, right. He has gay thoughts._ The recollection doesn’t cause him to become sickened by it or anything. After all, Connor has no control over them, and Kevin knows he is quite handsome (and no, that isn’t him being _vain_ ; it’s him being _self-aware_ ). Frankly, as Kevin reasons, it would be weird if Connor _didn’t_ have the occasional gay thought about him, given the increasing amount of time they’re spending together.

 No, if anything, he’s more affected by the _attention_ that Connor devotes to him, the selfish part of himself sprouting under the blazing ray of the other’s heavy stare. Kevin doesn’t _mean_ to egg it on, but sometimes he just can’t _help_ it. He’s always loved attention—has ever since he was a little kid and strived to outperform every one of his peers to earn the praise of superiors.

He realizes that he’s being cruel and wipes the juice from his chin, swallowing the tangerine and saying innocently, “Thanks for taking my citrus virginity, Connor.” He means it as a light-hearted joke, one that mirrors Connor’s own from only a minute earlier, but it lands differently within the new, inappropriate context.

It takes a second longer than usual for Connor to respond, but when he does, his eyes are pinned to the ground and voice lowered, “You’re welcome, Elder.” He clears his throat and toys with his collar, “We should get going.” And the curt, almost formal way his voice sounds makes him feel like shit, so Kevin brushes his hand against Connor’s to get him to look at him and smiles, trying to diffuse the tension. The action only tightens the other’s expression.

By the time that they’re back on the dirt road, Connor has only loosened up a little, smiling at Kevin’s jokes but unwilling to play along like earlier. Desperate for a change in atmosphere, Kevin reaches into the cart and grabs one of the tangerines, tossing it in the air and catching it with relative ease.

“I spy with my little eye,” Kevin begins, side-eyeing the other man and sighing in relief at how Connor’s smile widens for the first time, “Something orange.”

They spend the rest of the journey eating the tangerines and talking about things that don’t matter. Likewise, Kevin pretends to be enraptured by tangerines and pretends not to _notice_ things that don’t matter, like how the little strands of Connor’s hair curl around his reddening ears or how his crooked smile wraps around the citrus fruit.

Even discovery of tangerines aside, it’s been a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever start to question your life choices, just remember that I spent a solid fifteen minutes of my life googling the difference between tangerines and oranges.


	3. First Prank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tribal tradition of tricks. Kevin and Connor can't keep up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write. I've rewritten this like three different times. But hopefully this was worth the wait.

Within just one week’s time, Kevin has had (“ _non-poisonous—Jesus, Elder Price, don’t be such a baby”_ ) snakes placed inside his shoes, been thrown in an alligator-infested pond, and woke up to a dead pig lying in his cot. So when he brushes his teeth and finds his once neat, pristinely white rows stained scarlet, he isn’t the least bit surprised.

“Which one of you did it this time?” Kevin demands, striding into the kitchen. Elder Church’s poorly suppressed smile gives him away immediately.

“Funny.” Kevin hides his mouth with his hand and flops down in the seat next to Arnold, his only ally in this whole mess.

“Don’t be like that, Elder,” Elder Neeley scolds with a smile, “We’re just honoring holiday tradition.”

_(“It’s called Hila Mapepo,” Nabulungi had explained to them earlier, “Long ago, our village believed that the only way to get rid of evil spirits in someone is to scare them out. It is tribal tradition that this entire month is dedicated to honoring our heritage by performing the rituals.”)_

Kevin doesn’t understand why _he’s_ the one suffering the brunt of the torture when he didn’t even want to participate in the first place.

“ _Elders_ ,” Connor exclaims with a grin as he enters the room, “You will not _believe_ who I ran into when I was watering our— _Kevin, oh my gosh!”_ He drops the tin watering can and drops to his knees in front of him, grabbing his chin and examining his red mouth, “What happened? Did you fall? How bad is it bleeding? _When_ did this happen? Did you lose any teeth?” Kevin hears the other Elders snickering behind him, and even though he isn’t quite sure why, his face flushes.

He pushes Connor’s hand away, “I’m _fine_ , Elder. It’s just red dye. _Someone_ put it in our toothpaste.”

“Oh,” Connor stands up and takes large steps back, “Well, I think that’s pretty mild compared to the pranks that the villagers have been pulling.”

“Pushing me into the hogs’ pen with a necklace of apples isn’t a ‘prank,’” Arnold pouts, “That’s called _attempted murder_. I mean, _come on,_ you would think they’d treat their _prophet_ better than that!”

“Now hush. We all agreed that it would be rude to not incorporate their long withstanding traditions into their new way of life with the Church,” Connor reminds them, picking up the watering can and placing it in its rightful place, “We have to be respectful of our new converts.”

“I know,” Elder Thomas sighs before glaring at Elder Neeley, “But _some_ of us are enjoying it more than others.”

Elder Neeley arches an eyebrow, “Don’t pretend that you haven’t done your fair share.” And that is true. Every single one of the Elders have played at least one prank so far.

Every single one of them, that is, with the exception of Kevin Price.

:: - ::

It isn’t like that he hasn’t _tried_. He’s tied shoelaces together and hid behind bushes and even told bold-faced lies in order to get one over someone. However, each attempt has been foiled with _“just one look at your face, Elder. I mean, honestly, your eyes give it away.”_ But it isn’t his _fault_. It’s essentially in his _wiring_. Playing tricks are _not_ what Good Mormon Boys were taught to do, and though Kevin is now about as far away from his former persona as conceivably possible, it’s not like he can just abandon his core disciplinary that had been shoved down his throat for the last nineteen years (though apparently none of the other Elders seem to have a problem with it).

Kevin’s just not good at pulling pranks. And that’s— _fine_ , of course. He doesn’t need to be the best at _everything_.  He’s fine. _Honest_.

“The quicker this whole thing is over, the better.” Kevin tells Connor as they walk around the village. It’s almost become routine at this point that they spend their off-hours together in the afternoon. After all, Arnold is usually mooning over his girlfriend, and Connor is just about Kevin’s only friend next to Arnold. It’s only natural, Kevin reasons. However, given the increasingly weird and smug looks the other Elders cast them when they’re going off alone together, it’s apparently the strangest thing in the village (and that’s including that weird chicken fetus that Gonswala keeps in a jar right outside his door).

“I don’t know,” Connor shrugs, “It’s not so bad.”

“That’s because you haven’t been pranked.” Kevin points out bitterly, “You don’t know what it’s like to be constantly on guard.” He sighs and tries once again to scrub the red dye from his teeth, “Or maybe that’s just me.”

“You make it too easy for them,” Connor tells him, “It’s easy to ruffle your feathers. Just stop reacting and it won’t be as bad.”

“They ruined my teeth,” Kevin bares his scarlet gums, “What if it never comes out? I’ll always look like I got punched in the face!” The thought makes his stomach churn.

“Let me see.” Connor grabs Kevin’s chin and tilts it back, leaning in to examine the rows of red. His skin is cool to the touch, though it incites a low simmer in Kevin’s stomach. Connor always pulls any excuse to touch him—whether it be a pat on the back, a head on his shoulder, a hand on his knee. It doesn’t necessarily _bother_ Kevin, per say. It’s just— _weird_. Sometimes Connor just makes him feel _weird_ , like his tongue is too big or his skin is too tight. It’s not really _unpleasant_ , however, so Kevin doesn’t tell him to cut it out or anything.

“You know,” Connor says, a crooked grin etched onto his freckled features, “It’s honestly not a bad look on you.”

Kevin grins, trying to hide his self-consciousness with the snarky retort, “ _Nothing’s_ a bad look on me.” Connor sighs and seems to have a response on the tip of his tongue. He apparently thinks better of it since he closes his mouth and takes his hand away, resuming his walk and looking up at the blue sky.

“I wouldn’t mind getting pranked.” Connor confesses with a shrug.

“You’re just trying to make me mad.”

“No, honestly,” Connor denies vehemently, “I want to be part of the fun, you know? None of the Elders have even _tried_.”

“The Elders don’t prank you because you’re their superior,” Kevin informs him, “They have respect for you.” And, you know, Connor’s in charge of who gets stuck with bathroom cleaning duty, so that’s another huge component.

Connor huffs, “It’s not like I’m _millions_ of years older than them. I’m only _twenty_.” He sighs, putting his hands in his pockets, “I like leadership and I was honored to be named District Leader—don’t get me wrong. But sometimes I feel like it isolates me from everyone else. I don’t like that I always _have_ to be in charge and keep everyone in line. It makes me feel… _alone_.” Connor side-eyes Kevin and seems to remember himself, adding quickly with a self-deprecating smile, “But that’s how I’ve always kinda felt, so maybe I shouldn’t blame my position of power.”

Before Kevin can even think of a reply, Connor stops suddenly and goes to lean against a mossy tree, wiping the sweat from his brow and closing his eyes. Kevin takes this time to just stare at him—at the way his eyelashes ran over his cheeks, how his tongue snakes out just a little to swipe across his lower lip, the way he seems to command Kevin’s undivided attention just with his presence. He’s a born leader, Kevin knows. This is someone who people trust and confide in; someone who can make anyone smile and asks for nothing in return; someone who looks at you and makes you feel like you’re the only one in the world.

“See how _easy_ I am to prank?” Connor points out, opening his eyes and smiling, “Here I am out here, oblivious and vulnerable, and no one has the gall to scare me. It’s insulting.”

“You poor thing.” Kevin mocks with a roll of his eyes, sliding down next to him and resting his head on the rough bark. It isn’t long before he feels a hand knot in his hair, and yeah, it feels a little weird, but he sure as hell isn’t going to tell him to stop.

:: - ::

The next day, Kevin goes outside to sit with all the other Elders and offers a glass of water to Connor, “Here you go, Elder McKinley.”

In the middle of a heated conversation with Elder Church, Connor accepts the drink with nothing but a distracted smile. As innocently as possible, Kevin looms behind him with his hands twisted behind his back, cutting his eyes away just in case anyone looks back at him.

Oblivious, Connor finishes his long-winded explanation and takes a long, refreshing drink…

And promptly spits it out all over Elder Church.

“What _is_ this?” Connor demands as he spins around to face him, coughing and wiping the water from his mouth.

“It’s just water,” Kevin explains, adding, “With half a cup of salt mixed in.” Connor’s face loses its dazed annoyance, replaced with barely contained elation and humor.

He laughs as he makes a sour face, “You were right, Elder Price. This isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

“Hey, I went easy on you,” Kevin points out, “This time, anyway.”

Connor rolls his eyes, “We’ll see about that.”

The rest of the month, everyone completely avoids Kevin Price and Connor McKinley in fear of accidentally becoming entangled in their ruthless, bets-off prank war that results in ruined shirts, laced food, and one accidental fractured wrist.


	4. First Inebriation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin gets drunk at a party. Unsurprisingly, this turns out terribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be fun and light-hearted. It did not turn out that way.

It takes Kevin three entire cups of "punch" to realize why it tastes so strange.

"Nabulungi," He beckons with feigned calmness, drawing the girl's attention, "Is this alcohol?"

" _Of course_ , Silly," She confirms, her bright eyes filled with bemusement, "It's a party!" With a sound mind, Kevin would have started debating with her on the merits of serving _beer_ at a young girl's ninth birthday party, but considering the lack of said mentioned "sound mind," somehow it actually doesn't sound like a bad idea _at all._ He turns to a red-faced, glassy-eyed Arnold, who's staring at his cup in horror.

"I've drank like five of these." He whispers to Kevin, scandalized, "What do I _do_?"

Kevin is immediately reminded of their strict upbringing, the demonization of alcohol and caffeine and anything else that "poisons the mind." He knows that it's considered his responsibility to step up in this moment of vulnerability and debauchery, get on his soapbox and preach of the _dangers_ and _consequences_ of alcohol that had been hammered into his brain. The speech develops clearly even in his addled mind, and the first words of condescension and self-righteousness fight to crawl up his throat and force themselves between his lips.

But then he looks around and sees the joy and elation on everyone's face, the cheers and laughter that echo through the town square. He spots Elder Neeley and Elder Church—both red-faced and loud—laughing as they wave their glasses of "punch" carelessly in the air. He sees Elder Thomas nervously fingering his own glass while he actually  _talks_  to the village girl who he  _won't_  shut up about. He pauses at the sight of Elder Smith and Elder Stangle as they each take big swigs of their drinks before joining the crowd of dancers.

Kevin steals Arnold's cup and downs it, washing the preachy words back down where they belong.

"Have some more." Kevin answers with smug defiance, thrusting the empty glass back into Arnold's hands. 

Everyone seems to be having fun. Maybe Kevin should loosen up and follow someone else's lead for once.

:: - ::

Somehow, Kevin has managed to lose his tie _and_ left shoe on the way back to the bar, but he's past the point of giving a fuck about _anything_ right now to worry about it.

He bypasses Kimbey's attempts of serving him more beer and asks for water instead, the verge of a major headache threatening to kill the loose vibe he's been cultivating all evening. He downs half of the tall glass in one gulp, grimacing at the plain taste. He feels half-tempted to ask someone how long this party is supposed to last, but that would require _social interaction_ and _small talk_ and that sounds like a terrible ordeal altogether. Instead, he scans the crowd for someone in particular—someone who he has been searching for in the last hour or so. When he finally spots him, Kevin is already walking up to him before he gave his feet permission.

"Hey!" Kevin greets Connor a little _too_ loudly, his plan of _playing it cool_ slowly crumbling right before his eyes.

Connor looks up from his cup and smiles, the previous hints of misery disappearing at the sight of Kevin, "Hello, Elder Price."

"I told you not to call me that." Kevin reminds him, grinning nonetheless. He feels himself sway on his feet, so he plants a hand on the other's shoulder to steady himself.

Connor's pleased expression dims into bemusement, "Are you _drunk_?"

"What? _No,_ of course not." Kevin looks at Connor's half-emptied glass and the blush painting his pale cheeks, " _You_ have no room to talk anyway."

"Hey, I'm being more moderate than our fellow Elders." Connor gestures towards Elder Cunningham, who's currently pants-less and dancing with a cackling Nabulungi. An embarrassing giggle rises in Kevin’s throat at the sight of him. It dies as he feels the ground lurching underneath him yet again.

Without thinking, he grabs Connor's hand and starts pulling him away, "Let's sit down." When Connor tenses at the sudden contact between them, Kevin pretends not to notice. 

Eventually, they find their way to someone's porch, far enough to be away from everyone's line of sight but still near enough to hear the echo of the excitement. Kevin collapses on the stairs and lolls his head back, looking at the sky's deep orange hue as the sun quietly crawls beneath the horizon. Connor joins him, putting as much distance between them as possible. It doesn't do much good given the size of the small staircase, only a few inches separating the two men.

"My parents would be so disappointed in me." Kevin muses, smiling even though a heavy, sick knot settles in his stomach.

Connor is quiet beside him, letting a pause pass before he asks, "Why did you bring me here?"

"You looked miserable." Kevin shrugs, "I thought I was helping. We can go back if you want."

"No," Connor decides firmly, some tension leaving his body, "That's fine. This is much better."

Kevin looks over at his tightly wound form, remarking lightly, "You know, I've almost _never_ seen you relaxed."

Connor laughs nervously, "You're not a very _relaxing_ person to be around." Daring a glance over at Kevin's unimpressed look, he loosens up some, the forced humor dropping from his face.

"Relaxation means giving up control," Connor tells him, refusing to meet his gaze as he stares absently into the horizon, "And that leads to surprises and—and _mistakes_."

"What kind of mistakes?" He doesn't know why he asks that—why he always wants to twist and prod at all of Connor's insecurities, all of which that he'd much rather Kevin leave alone and unspoken. Connor levels him a terse look, so Kevin decides to give up and drop it.

"I’ve only had like two cups," Connor says instead, "I think I'm a bit of a lightweight."

"Don't take it so hard," Kevin shrugs, cheering mockingly, "It's our first full form of debauchery! Let's bask in the sick cardinal pleasure of it."

"You make it all sound so _simple_." Connor marvels quietly, "We're _heretics_ , you know? _Blasphemers_. And you— _of all people_ —are _okay_ with that?"

Kevin shrugs, "It's all a bunch of bullshit anyway. Why the fuck not?"

Connor laughs, disbelief coloring his voice, "You're so _different_ than what everyone said you'd be like." The memory of all his hollow accomplishments and merits at the Training Center come back to him in haunting detail, causing the light-hearted elation to drain from his system. He remembers how celebrated he was back then, hates how his chest starts to ache in twisted envy and nostalgia. It was never real, he knows; it's just hard not to _miss it_ sometimes.

"A prick?" Kevin jokes hollowly, sneering.

"Stop it. You know what I mean." At Connor's strict tone, Kevin allows his defenses to drop. 

"None of them really _knew_ me, alright? They saw what they wanted to see." Kevin sighs, correcting himself, "They saw what _I_ wanted them to see."

"Do you still do that now?" Connor demands, " _Make_ people see what they want?"

Kevin shrugs, looking down at his mud-caked feet, "I don't know. Sometimes, I guess. It makes things easier."

A strained pause fills the air.

Connor breaks it by asking quietly, "Do you do that to _me_?"

Kevin recoils, glancing up at him in surprise and offense, "What? Why would you—We're  _friends,_ Connor."

Connor scoffs at that reasoning, demanding in a rough voice, "Are we _really_ though?”

Kevin hates the shakiness in his voice, “Do you not think we are?” Because maybe he’s just been humoring Kevin this entire time. Maybe Connor’s allowed Kevin to follow him around like a lost puppy because he felt _sorry_ for him. Maybe all those laughs and jokes and secrets shared between the two never really _meant_ anything.

Maybe Kevin really has been more alone than he thought.

At Kevin’s wounded expression, Connor’s frustrated expression crumbles as he just sighs and hangs his head between his knees, "Of course we’re friends. Look, I’m just being silly. Forget I said that. It's the beer talking." He seems so defeated and tired in that very moment; Kevin doesn't want to know how much he himself contributed to that.

Kevin's never been good at making people feel better. He's always been too brutally honest, too self-absorbed. Arnold is much better at all of this, and Kevin feels his own inadequately threatening to swallow him whole.

He tries to think of what Arnold would do. Sing a stupid song? Say something irrelevant and thoughtless to make him laugh? Give him a hug?

Kevin awkwardly sidles up next to Connor and throws an arm around his shoulder, hoping that the weird display of affection is enough. It has the _opposite_ effect of what he wanted. 

Connor launches himself out of his seat, standing up and staring at him with wide, terrified eyes, "Please don't. Don't do that." It shouldn't hurt so much to have those terrified eyes trained on him, but it does; it feels a punch in the fucking gut.

 _"What?"_ Kevin demands, "Can I not _touch_ you? Jesus, you're my _friend_ , aren't you? Can't you get over your weird crush on me and _act like it_ for once?" The words echo through the night, somehow amplified by the muffled shrieks and laughter from the party. 

Kevin regrets it immediately, wonders why he even said it in the first place. He looks away before he can see the expression on Connor's face, keeping his gaze trained on the other boy's shoes instead. An apology bubbles in his throat, but his tongue refuses to work on his behalf. Instead, they're both left suspended in silence. He never knew it could be quite so deafening.

"You know," Surprisingly, Connor's voice is steady and flat ( _in control,_ his mind supplies), "For someone who _acts_ nice a lot of the time, you can still be a real fucking asshole." Kevin doesn't look up or respond, watching as those shoes turn and walk away until they're out of sight. And Kevin is left just how he deserves to be.

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An immediate follow up to this moment in time will be the next chapter, taking place during the morning after this night. The Angst will be resolved but not through these two admitting how they feel because why would they do that? (the answer is: plot purposes). It isn't long before they do get together though, so please keep your frustrations at bay for a few more chapters. It'll be worth it - I promise.


	5. First Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies and forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm already back with another chapter. I got major inspiration at like eleven o'clock last night and this monster came to life.

The following morning, Kevin comes to the painful realization of why Mormons believe alcohol poisons the mind.

“I’m dead,” Kevin declares, wincing as the mere practice of speech burns his bone-dry throat, “I hope the funeral was nice.” Beside him, Arnold lets out a loud, gross snore as he shifts to lie on his back, throwing an arm out and smacking Kevin right in the face. _Good morning to you, too, Buddy._

The bend of Arnold’s elbow juts into Kevin’s midsection, carving itself a place right underneath his ribcage. Uselessly, he tries to move away from his best friend’s clutches, but since every movement causes a chain reaction of pain throughout Kevin’s body, he eventually succumbs to Arnold’s clingy grasp.

Even with the lack of comfort in his current sleeping arrangement, it takes Kevin a considerable amount of time to convince himself to get out of bed. Eventually, though, the desire for sustenance prevails, and he somehow manages to get untangled from the human-octopus and rise from his cot. His brain rattles in his skull as soon as he stands, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his entire system. Kevin forgoes putting any clothes on over his temple garments and just waddles out of the room, wincing at the thunderous creaking of wooden panels under his feet.

Using his hand as a visor to combat the overwhelming brightness of the morning, he struggles down the hall enroute to the kitchen. The synchronization of snores echoing throughout the hallway foreshadows the lack of actual progress that today will bring, and even though Kevin’s body nearly collapses with relief at the thought, he actually really wanted the distraction of work to keep him from thinking about _that night_. The painful reminder of why he still only has one friend is now engrained in his mind, despite his attempt to erase it later that night with _more_ booze.

Out of habit, Kevin starts making coffee as soon as he enters the kitchen, the motions of caffeinated sin easier to memorize than all those useless pieces of Scripture. As the coffee brews, he leans over the kitchen sink and gulps down much-needed water, making loud and disgusting slurping noises that he can’t even be damned to smother. His hypersensitive ears perk up at the sound of footsteps, causing him to draw back from the faucet and turn towards the door.

And _of course_ it’s Elder McKinley, standing in the doorway fully dressed with his tie knotted and hair immaculately parted. Vainly, Kevin’s hands go to his own hair, causing him to grimace at the array of tangles and knots that he finds. Coupled with his bleary eyes and underwear-clad form, he must look like a fucking _trainwreck_.

Elder McKinley’s face is unreadable, but there’s no mistaking the tension coiled in his squared shoulders and the way he immediately tries to hide his flexing hands by looping them behind his back. The lack of friendliness in the man’s expression unnerves Kevin; he has the strong inkling that even being strangers would be more pleasant than _this_.

He never would’ve pegged Elder McKinley to be the type to hold grudges. It seems that, at the very least, this unpleasant experience is releasing more useless information about the weirdly uptight, unnecessarily cryptic man.

“Sorry,” Elder McKinley says, averting Kevin’s dumbfounded gaze, “I heard that someone else was up, and I just…” He clears his throat, meeting his eye and plastering a fake smile on his face, “How are you feeling, Elder?” And it’s so—so _polite_ and _professional_ that it only adds to the sour feeling in Kevin’s stomach.

“Terrible.” Kevin answers, painfully aware of the water dripping from his chin. He wipes it off hurriedly and clears his throat, though his voice still possesses the slightest rasp, “I, uh, guess you didn’t drink as much as they rest of us, huh? Considering you don’t look like a zombie right now.”

“I know my own limits,” He points out, now studying the wooden grain of the doorway, “I went around the village; it looks like a ghost town. Seems like everyone is going to have a late morning today.” Kevin shudders, the ice between them growing more prevalent by the second. The action only draws Elder McKinley’s attention to his body, as if he’s just now noticing that Kevin is in his underwear. Even though temple garments are anything _but_ flattering—on _anyone_ , the elder still flushes, the tips of his ears blending in with the fiery hue of his hair.

“Elder,” Kevin begins and stops himself, realizing that he’s being childish, “ _Connor,_ we need to talk.” Kevin takes a step toward him, taking the man’s lack of response as a semi-good sign, “Look, what I said back there…It was thoughtless and out of line. I didn’t mean to—I never wanted to—“ He takes a deep breath, his cheeks flushing at his embarrassing sputtering, “It doesn’t matter whether I _meant to_ or not; I hurt you. And I’m sorry.” For several, torturous seconds, Elder McKinley remains silent, his face displaying the internal war waging within himself. Awkwardly, Kevin can just look down at his hands and pray that his verbal groveling was enough. He looks back up when he hears a good-natured, mocking scoff and suddenly _Connor_ is back with him, smiling at him like he’s trying so hard not to.

“The Great Kevin Price apologizing? Never thought I’d live to see the day.” Connor says, but his voice and eyes are fond. And Kevin knows that they’re going to be okay.

“Sit down already. You look like you’re about to drop dead any second.” Connor instructs, smirking when the other immediately obeys. Kevin watches as the man fixes a tall glass of water and scrounge up a few painkillers hiding in the back of the cabinet. He slides them over to Kevin and plops down in the seat across from him.

“Would right now be a great time to start showing off my show-tunes knowledge?” Connor asks, sucking in a big breath as if to belt out a loud lyric. Frightened, Kevin hurriedly plugs his ears and winces.

Connor busts out laughing instead, and even though that also spikes the pain in his headache, Kevin kinda doesn’t mind all that much.

:: - ::

He thought that they were behind it, but only a few days later—when they’re both knee-deep in soil and tending to the planted flowers—Connor blurts out, “I don’t have a crush on you.”

Kevin freezes, his head suddenly buzzing, “Okay.”

“I just wanted to let you know,” Connor tells him awkwardly, staring hard at the withering dandelions, “I don’t like you like that. I see you as a—a _friend,_ you know? I’ve never really had a real one before and I’m just nervous that you’ll constantly be afraid I’m hitting on you or whatever, so I’ve tried to keep my distance as to not make you uncomfortable, and I guess I can sorta see how you can misinterpret that.”

“Okay.” Kevin’s mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton balls.

“Okay.” Connor echoes firmly before just as abruptly switching gears again, gesturing to the drooping flowers, “They’re all dying. We probably need to scope out a better location.”

Kevin hides his shaking hands in the wet soil, “Okay.”


	6. First Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin agonizes over what it means to have a crush and whether he has one on one particular elder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs in the time-frame simultaneously as the previous ones as this one chronicles an extended period of time. It'll make more sense when you read it, okay?   
> (In my notes, this chapter is also entitled: Kevin's Sexuality Crisis, Part I)

Kevin distinctly remembers Samantha Lewis punching him in the face during recess in the fourth grade. He remembers the shock of it more than the pain itself, the feeling of genuine surprise and confusion just as vivid to him as the blood gushing from his nose. He remembers stumbling in wake of the punch, his back smacking against the iron jungle gym.

Samantha herself had been crying, he vaguely recalls. Bubbles of snot leaking from her nose, red splotches erupting all across her pale skin, her chest rattling with heavy breathing—she looked like she was in so much  _pain_. And Kevin…

Kevin had felt nothing.

:: - ::

It happened like this:

_Kevin teeters carefully across the playground, avoiding the packs of running children and paying close attention to the assortment of acorns bundled in his shirt. When he finally makes it to the bench on the outskirts of the recess area, he begins placing them each in a variety of categories. He starts by size, taking careful consideration for each before he selects their group. He's almost done when someone taps him on the shoulder._

_"Hi, Kevin!" A nasally yet not quite unpleasant voice says softly but anxiously behind him._

_Kevin doesn't bother to turn around, not wishing to break his concentration, "Hi, Samantha."_

_Unperturbed by the unfriendliness of his speech, the slight, soft-spoken girl squats down beside him, "Whatcha doin'?"_

_"Playing with these acorns I found." Kevin's shrill voice raises in alarm when he notices Samantha flicking them, "Don't do that! I placed them there for a reason."_

_"Sorry. I wanted to play, too," She scoots closer to him, refusing to maintain his bemused gaze as she stares bashfully at the acorns, "Hey, I need to ask you something."_

_Kevin waits for her to continue, finally prompting with growing agitation, "And? Go on."_

_Looking vaguely like a little mouse backed into a corner, she looks over her shoulder and mouths something. Kevin follows her gaze only to find Darcy Allan and Hillary Taylor obviously hiding behind a slide, nodding their heads furiously and giggling in their direction. A sick, suspicious feeling settles in Kevin's stomach, and he's painfully reminded of the time Jacob Landon tricked him into spelling attic in front of the entire math class._

_"Are you playing a trick on me?" Kevin demands, prompting Samantha to whirl back around to stare at him with wide eyes, "Because that's mean, and mean people go to Hell."_

_"I am not!" She cries indignantly, standing up and pulling at his hand, "Come on. I wanna show you something." Kevin is tempted to yell at her to go away but then he looks down at his brand-new WWJD bracelet that he got at Bible School last week._ _That's not what Jesus would do, right? Even if Samantha Lewis was being really annoying and had bad breath._

_Reluctantly, he lets himself be pulled by the shorter girl, ignoring the fear of what might happen to his acorn piles if he leaves them too long. Finally, they stop right behind the jungle gym and—Kevin worriedly notices—where the big slide blocks any teacher's vision of them._

_He starts to inform her of this fact, but she starts to speak, all red-faced and tongue-tied, "So, I really, really like you. Do you, um—_ like _me?"_

_Kevin blinks, "Yeah? I guess so." He waits for the rest of the admission to continue, but she just stands there, slack-jawed and bright-eyed._

_"Really?"_

_Kevin resists the urge to roll his eyes, "Of course. Heavenly Father tells us to like everyone. It's in the Bible."_

_Just as abruptly as they lit up, the fire behind her eyes dims, "No, no. I mean_ like-like _. Like, I_ like-like _you." As if to further illustrate her point, Samantha very quickly smashes her face against Kevin's, knocking their noses together and causing both children to hiss in pain. She's trying to_ kiss _him—like grown-ups do when they’re married. Immediately, every nerve in his body prickles with panic as a system of alarm starts blaring in his head._ I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this—

_Reflexively, Kevin pushes her away, "Stop! That's gross!" He only shoved her a little, but Samantha acts like he just slapped her._

_"It's what boyfriends and girlfriends do," Samantha tells him tersely, tears welling up in her eyes, "Don't you want a girlfriend?" And—well, does he? Of course he's noticed the majority of boys and girls pairing off together, holding each other's hands and pretending to be married. Even jerks like Jacob Landon has had like_ three _girlfriend since the beginning of the school year._

 _But Kevin’s never thought of_ himself _having a girlfriend. It seemed like so much work, after all. From what he’s seen, the boy has to not to talk to any girl except his girlfriend and share all his stuff with her and compliment her all the time, and apparently now he has to kiss her, too!_

_"No," Kevin admits plainly, looking vaguely disgusted, "That sounds awful." He shakes his head violently, willing her to understand, "Samantha, I don't like you like that. At all. I mean, I only like you a little because God says I have—" She punches him then, cutting off his well-articulated rejection._

_It hurts, sure, but it's better than having to be Samantha Lewis's_ boyfriend,  _he supposes._

:: - ::

There were others, even after Samantha.

Throughout his life, Kevin ignored these creepy stares, the hushed whispers behind his back, the stammering attempts at conversation. It all seemed so...uncomfortable. And awkward. And not in God's plan for a great man like him, thank you very much.

He was going to do something  _incredible_ , after all. And girls—as he absently noticed all the boys wax on and on about how a certain girl looked or smelled—were only a distraction.

Now that he thinks about, Kevin’s never even had a single crush before. He always thought that made him special—that God had chosen him to be immune to sinful distractions in order to better prepare himself for holy greatness. But that was before _Uganda_ happened, and a lot of his line of thinking has changed since then.

Now, Kevin doesn’t believe he’s meant to do anything incredible. He’s barely doing subpar—on a good day, even.

Kevin knows that he’s not special, so maybe that means he’s just broken.

:: - :: 

"Hey Arnold?" Kevin asks after one particularly depressing day of self-reflection, lying restlessly in his cot and unable to go to sleep.

Arnold yawns, "Yeah, Buddy?"

"You have a crush on Nabulungi." Kevin states it as a fact simply because it is one. He's been mooning over the pretty African girl ever since they got here.

Arnold has enough grace to not deny it, simply giggling into his pillow and saying coyly, " _Maybe."_ He suddenly flops closer to him, wide awake, "Why? Did she ask you to ask me that?"

"No," Kevin shakes his head, keeping his gaze firmly on the sunken ceiling, "I was just wondering what it—y'know, felt like. To have a—a  _crush_."

Arnold doesn't answer right away, as if confused by the question. Shame burns Kevin's cheeks and he opens his mouth to dismiss the whole thing, but then Arnold snaps out of his daze, "It's  _wonderful_. You think about them all the time, and your heart races and hands sweat every time you're near them, and you get really nervous when you realize how nice they smell or how hot they look in those rags—"

Kevin laughs, nerves fraying his voice, "That doesn't sound wonderful. That sounds like  _torture_."

"But it feels  _so_  good to hurt," Arnold sighs dreamily, "I dunno how else to describe it. It can be the  _best_  and  _worst_  thing in the entire world." Kevin turns away from Arnold and hums rather than responds, digesting his description. 

"Did I answer your question?" Arnold asks.

"Yeah," Kevin says, even though he doesn't quite know what his  _real_  question had been, "I think so."

:: - ::

He doesn't think about Connor McKinley all the time. After all, he's trying to spread a new religion in a decrepit, always-trying-to-kill-him-somehow village ( _and_  simultaneously  _not die_  in aforementioned decrepit, always-trying-to-kill-him-somehow village). It seems like every single day leads to some unforeseen disaster or crisis that he and the others have to deal with. If he's not battling some external force, Kevin's dealing with a twofold existential and identity crisis that refuses to dissipate no matter how much time he dedicates to wrestling with his internal demons. Oh, and the fact that he has daily chores to inwardly complain about. With all of that going on, his thoughts have a pretty booked schedule.

That isn't to say that he  _never_  thinks of Connor. At least once a day, he's somehow reminded of the man, whether it be as obvious as his purple toothbrush on the bathroom or as abstract as a red leaf fluttering in the breeze. _Of course_ he thinks of Connor. But does he think of him enough to merit those feelings being identified as  _romantic_? 

And what sets the parameters of _romantic_? Must it always be sexual? How will Kevin know whether he just has some sort of platonic fascination with him or if he wants to be his  _boyfriend_?

(This is about the time that Arnold would tell him to stop thinking so hard and give himself a break, but since Kevin is purposefully internalizing this analysis, he supposes that he'll have to do it for him.  _Hey, Kevin, shut the fuck up!)_

:: - ::

The next time Kevin hangs out with Connor, he makes sure to pay close attention to his body's responses.

"—And so I open it up, and it was this terrible,  _ugly_  suit with  _sequins_ ," Connor describes with distaste, smacking Kevin on the arm when he laughs at the mental image, "Hey, my aunt worked so hard on it, okay? She stitched the whole thing together. So anyway, there's all the other boys in their polo shirts and khakis, and I'm wearing _a sequin suit!_ I mean," He shrugs, smirking at the memory, "Don't get me wrong. I looked  _great_  in it. But it was still a little traumatic, you know?"

Kevin nods hurriedly, still chuckling, "I can imagine how out of place you looked. I mean,  _sequins_?"

"It was almost like my aunt was trying to tell me something about myself." Connor adds, a rueful smile on his lips. 

As they're walking, their hands keep bumping together, never maintaining the contact but never actively preventing it from happening either. Discreetly, Kevin looks down at his hands. They're not sweaty or even trembling for that matter. He's not nervous or shaky. He feels... _good,_ actually; more relaxed than he's felt in awhile. Kevin listens closely to his heart only to find it yet again operating normally. He's not sweaty or anxious or fidgety—does that really mean he doesn't have a crush on Connor?

Noticing the lull in the conversation, Connor glances over and smiles good-naturedly at him. Warmth spreads throughout Kevin's entire body. Wildly, he wonders what would happen if he kissed him. Would Kevin feel anything other than the soft pressure of mouths pressed together?

Even just thinking absently about it, Kevin thinks it would be kinda nice. Actually, he thinks that it would be  _really, really_  nice.

:: - ::

Kevin's not stupid. He knows that he feels  _something_  when he's around Connor. It's a development that crept up on him, so slowly that he didn't notice until he looked over at Connor one day and thought that he'd really like to hold his hand and kiss him until he's as red as his hair.

And it is stupid that he's analyzing every facet and crevice of this ache in his chest, but he needs to _know_ , okay? He needs to make sure that this isn't some deep platonic emotion that he'll recognize instantly when he's already kissed Connor and then it's too late.

Kevin doesn't want to hurt Connor like he hurt Samantha Lewis.

:: - :: 

It happens like this: 

_They're in the garden when he finally accepts it._

_"I watered them twice yesterday and hoped that would help," Connor admits, looking away from the dying flowers to smile apologetically at him, "Apparently not." Kevin is reminded of all those months ago when they first planted them, back before he even considered Connor a friend until that moment. It's weirdly fitting that it happens here and now, with the soft light of the sun bouncing off his red hair and kissing even more freckles into his skin. It's only a few days since that stupid drunken night, but Kevin gets it now. He knows what he wants, and yeah, maybe he has been a little stupid that it took so long to understand._

_He finally feels that bundle of twisting nerves in his stomach, the good-bad ache in his chest. He feels like Samantha Lewis on that playground that day, hoping that this cute boy will like him back. Kevin looks over at Connor just as the boy glances away; his giddiness is dampened when he notices the tight lines of worry appearing on Connor’s face._

_"I don't have a crush on you." Connor says flatly, staring hard at the flowers. He goes on to explain further—some tongue-tied admission that Kevin can hardly follow with all the blood rushing in his head._

_"Okay." Kevin keeps repeating, digging his fingers into the clay soil._

_And now Kevin gets what Arnold was saying back then._

_This is torture._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So people won't be concerned, I'm not dragging out this slow-burn, will-they-won't-they anymore than necessary. Since I've gotten what I needed out of these angsty, supposed-unrequited moments, I'm almost done with the pining.  
> Next Chapter Hint: First Kiss


	7. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's _incredible_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, Someone (I'm not being vague; that's literally their username) drew amazing, awe-inspiring artwork for this fic here: https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/161455629780/i-was-gonna-draw-some-arnold-but-then-one-of-my  
> I was so amazed that something I created inspired someone else, so that kind of made my entire existence 0_O  
> Anyway, here it is! The moment you've all (especially me, tbh) have waited for! I really, really like how it turned out, and I'm even posting it earlier than intended because I can't bear to not publish it any longer.

It shouldn’t change anything, really.

After all, they’re still _friends_. They still laugh and joke around and bitch about stupid stuff, and it’s still _great_ —honestly, it is. Kevin doesn’t stop being his friend when he finds out that Connor isn’t interested in being his _boy_ friend. That’s just moronic, and yeah, Kevin can be a little petty at times, but he’s not a complete _asshole_.

Sure, it’s hard sometimes, but he just needs to _get past it._ Crushes are rarely _permanent_. Kevin will get over it—statistically-speaking, that is.

“Saltwater taffy.” Connor adds to the list, picking up another clod of dirt and hurling into the brown, swampy pond.

Kevin pulls his knees closer to his chest, watching the ripples in the water with intense focus, “Uh…glazed donuts.”

Connor nods in agreement, leaning back on his elbows. It’s always hot in Uganda, but today, it is positively _sweltering—_ enough so that the elders agreed to postpone any chores or preaching previously scheduled. This afternoon, they’re left to their own devices, so Kevin and Connor decided to relax by the muddy pond while the others try their own methods to avoid heatstroke.

“No, you know what I _really_ miss?” Connor prompts.

Kevin arches an eyebrow, “More than saltwater taffy?”

Connor nods, answering, “Air-conditioners.”

Kevin groans, “Stop. Don’t remind me of their existence.”

Connor smiles and it’s so bright and handsome that Kevin has to look away. The playfulness in his expression drips away, so he turns his head in order to hide it from Connor. After all, it isn’t _his_ fault—not really. It’s _Kevin’s_ problem to deal with, and he’s working on it. However, progress has been agonizing slow, despite all efforts and resources being poured into the operation.

“Hey, I forgot to tell you,” Connor says suddenly, noticing that the atmosphere had changed and obviously trying to rectify it, “Sister Asha gave me some sort of ‘miracle spray’ for the wild flowers. It’s supposed to shield them from the sun a little bit so they won’t dry up.”

“You think it’ll help?” Kevin asks, “We’ve already tried moving them to the shade. Maybe it’s something to do with the soil.”

“Look at you.” Connor teases, knocking their knees together.

“What?” Kevin demands, suddenly defensive.

“Don’t get prissy,” He scolds, “I’m just saying that it’s weird. I would’ve never guessed that Kevin Price would be so into gardening.”

Kevin shrugs, looking down to pick at the stray thread of his pants leg, “So? It’s nice. You know, to take care of something.” He feels Connor’s gaze pinned on him, and he can’t seem to stop himself from continuing, “I mean, I guess they don’t really _need_ me. Technically, I can just plant them and see if they take care of themselves, but…I guess that I just like to watch over them and—and help them grow, you know? To create something and watch it _develop_ , it—it makes me feel very…powerful and—and _good_.”

Connor just tilts his head and stares at him, silent through all of Kevin’s sputtering and then clarifying, “So…you like playing God.”

Kevin freezes and makes a face, “Great. Now that makes me sound like an asshole.”

“Not necessarily.” Connor says softly, staring hard at him with a vague expression, “Actually, I think it makes you sound very…kind.”

Kevin vaguely notices that Connor has closed a lot of the distance between them, but he can hardly process any implications due to the hammering of his heart. He laughs, hollow and bitter, “Well, we all know that’s just an _act_.” He recalls the words that Connor had told him that drunken night and feels sick to his stomach. He expects Connor to reiterate his words from before because after all, aren’t they true? Kevin’s entire personality had been carefully constructed to fit into this _mold_ of a Good Mormon Boy. He only did what was _expected_ of him, what he thought others wanted and demanded. He’s never been his own person until now. But who’s to say that it isn’t already too late?

“I don’t think it is.” Connor admits, stunning Kevin into silence, “Look, Kevin, you are very…self-absorbed sometimes and thoughtless of how other people might feel because of your words and actions.” He laughs lightly and shrugs, “It sucks sometimes, yeah, and it frustrates me. But that doesn’t mean you’re a _bad_ person.” He seems so adamant in the fact, looking more serious that Kevin had ever seen, “You need to stop beating yourself up like this. You’ve made mistakes, but who hasn’t? I wasn’t the best guy either when you and Arnold first got here, and I’m _still_ not some saint. But _you_ , Kevin, are a good person. I’m not certain on much of anything anymore, but I _know_ you and I _know_ that, at your very core, _you are good_.”

Kevin has closed his eyes at this point, allowing the words to wash over him. Every fiber of his being protests to the claim, whispers reminding him of all that he’s done and all those that he’s hurt. He hasn’t always been a good person, but he’s _trying_. And maybe, for the first time, he should forgive himself because of it.

Kevin knows that he shouldn’t (it’s very counterproductive), but he leans his head on Connor’s shoulder anyway and watches the ripples in the pond water. They don’t speak after that, but then again, they don’t need to anymore to know exactly what the other is saying.

And Kevin’s never been in love before, but he thinks that maybe this is what it feels like.

:: - ::

It happens not long after that day.

They’re essentially tearing apart Connor’s entire room in an effort to find something. Even though the door is closed, Kevin can still heard some of the elders in the hallway and other rooms, a steadying reminder that they aren’t technically alone together. It’s a frivolous thought but weirdly comforting nonetheless.

“I can’t believe I lost it,” Connor agonizes, flipping his cot hurriedly, “Neela is going to _hate_ me.”

“You’ll find it. It has to be here somewhere,” Kevin tries not to mess anything up as he carefully prods at the relatively immaculate order of possessions, “This is what you get for trying new things, you know.”

“I wanted to learn how to play the _algaita_.” Connor pauses, admitting, “Plus, it was the only way for me to connect with her and find an organic way of bringing up possible conversion to the Church.”

“Well, hopefully you told her about forgiveness and mercy,” Kevin says, glancing over and spotting a medium-sized wooden box next to Connor’s upturned cot, “Did you look in there?”

“Hm?” Connor follows his gaze, weirdly flushing, “Oh no. It’s not in there.”

Kevin walks over to it, leaning down and picking it up, “What is it?”

“Nosy,” Connor scolds, snatching the box from his hands, “I got it from Omari. It used to be his cigar box before his wife made him quit. He gave it to me as a gift for teaching his daughter how to swing dance.” It’s the protective way that he holds it, as if shielding it from not just Kevin but the entire world, that further piques his interest.

And he knows that it isn’t any of his business and Connor deserves his privacy, but he can’t help but ask, “Can I see what’s inside?”

“What do you think is inside?” Connor asks, dodging the question.

Kevin shrugs, answering honestly, “Secrets.”

The boy laughs, “No, it’s not that interesting.” He sighs and sits down on his cot, patting the seat beside him for Kevin, “It’s just a mementos box. I keep all my prized possessions in it so Elder Thomas won’t destroy them. He’s very clumsy.”

Kevin sits down next to him, “You know, you don’t have to show me.”

“It’s not even private.” He assures him, averting his eyes, “I’m just…embarrassed, I guess. To show _you_.”

Kevin furrows his brow, becoming even more interested, “Why?”

“It’s stupid. Don’t even read into it. I shouldn’t have even said anything.” To distract him from the line of questioning, Connor opens the box and hands it over to Kevin.

It’s underwhelming, honestly. All that’s inside is a couple of pieces of mint gum that they’d bought at the market, a letter of thanks from that dance troupe Connor had assembled, a few folded letters from his family (Kevin is careful not to read those), and a weirdly shaped piece of wood. The wood sparks vague recognition, so Kevin actually takes it out and holds it in the light. It’s vaguely human-shaped, all except the supposed “head” of the figurine. A long, narrow appendage sticks out in the center, making it appear almost cartoonish.

And that’s when it hits him.

_("I want you to have it," And he finds that he actually means it, pushing it into Connor's hands, "A token of my appreciation." Looking down, Conner turns it over and over in his hands, his smile turning softer in the fading sunlight._

_"It's incredible. Thank you.")_

“Pinocchio,” Kevin says faintly, looking over at him with wide eyes, “You kept it?”

“Of course I did,” Connor says with a weird smile, looking so timid and _shy_ , “A cute boy gave it to me.”

Kevin doesn’t realize that he did it until he feels warm, dry lips pressed against his own. And it’s just pressure, really—Connor seems to be too in shock to even move, his body coiled in confusion and disbelief—but Kevin feels everything all at once. He feels _electricity_ and _poetry_ and _hot_ and _cold_ , and it’s something so sublime and petrifying that Kevin is scrambling to keep his footing on the shifting earth beneath him.

It ends too fast—less than three seconds before it happened—but Kevin still feels the ache on his lips like a burning emblem. And Kevin was _flying_ before, but now he is _falling_.

“ _Shit_ , I’m sorry.” Kevin exclaims, standing up and turning away from him, “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I _did_ mean to, but…” His breath comes out in uneven pants, his breathing as sporadic as his thoughts, “Please don’t hate me. I know you don’t like me like I—like _I…”_ He tries to hold back, to swallow the admission back down, but it’s an uphill battle, “Like _I_ like _you_.” Kevin can’t even turn around to face him, his feet rooted to the floor

The pause is deafening until Connor finally says faintly, still obviously dazed, “That was my first kiss.”

Kevin lets out a shuddering breath, repeating numbly, “I’m sorry.”

He hears Connor stand up and walk towards him, coming up behind him. Connor approaches him like he’s a scared animal, as if he’s afraid that any quick moves will send him bolting away. Kevin can already imagine the words he’ll say, the soft but firm rejection on his lips. And he isn’t that surprised that he’s ruined everything; he’s just surprised that it took so long.

“Why did you do that?” Connor asks carefully.

Kevin still won’t turn around, but he surprises himself by answering somewhat evenly, “I mean, that’s a stupid question.”

“Not to me,” Connor counters, “Not about this. I need to hear you say it.”

“Well, that’s _mean_ ,” Kevin laughs shakily, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Kevin Price.” Kevin’s body becomes pliable as Connor slowly turns him around to face him, but he keeps his gaze pinned to the floor. Connor places his hand on the back of Kevin’s neck and guides his head down, and before Kevin can apologize again, Connor is kissing him.

It’s even better than the first one, even though their noses keep bumping into each other and Kevin has to hunch down to meet his mouth. And it’s so embarrassingly _clumsy,_ especially when they open their mouths and try to add _tongue_ , their teeth clinking together every time they try to change the angle.

And it’s _incredible_.

Kevin draws back first, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, “Why did you do that?”

Connor smiles nervously, mimicking Kevin’s earlier tone, “I mean, that’s a stupid question.”

“No, it isn’t,” Kevin denies, pointing out vehemently, “You told me that you didn’t have a crush on me.”

“What?” Connor demands, staring blankly at him, “ _When?_ ”

“Like, two weeks ago,” Kevin reminds him, his pitch becoming embarrassingly high, “In the garden!”

“Oh,” Faint recognition quickly devolves into shock, “And you actually _believed_ me?”

Kevin feels his own annoyance grow, “Of course I did.”

“Kevin, I was _lying_ ,” Connor tells him, looking at Kevin like he’s the stupidest person alive, “How did you not get that? I thought you knew how I felt. _Everyone else_ _did_. I mean, you even called me out on it!”

“Yeah, but…” Kevin scrambles for a comeback, but his head is still buzzing, “I can’t think straight right now, but I know that this isn’t my fault.”

 “You’re really arguing with me? _Right now?”_ Kevin catches the disbelieving smirk on the boy’s face and finds the light annoyance drain from his body, becoming replaced with the quiet shock and awe of it all.

“So, uh…” Kevin says awkwardly and then clears his throat, and dammit, he distinctly remembers being smoother than this, “What happens now?”

“I mean,” Tentatively, Connor places his hands on Kevin’s shoulders, and it’s weird that Kevin immediately leans down to meet him, as if it’s already become second-nature, “That’s a stupid question.”

“Yeah,” Kevin agrees quietly, looking distractedly at Connor’s mouth, “I guess it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because they've gotten together doesn't mean they don't have a long road ahead of them.  
> Next Chapter Hint: First Date.


	8. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is soooooooooo long. Ugh, sorry about that.   
> If you find more errors than usual, I tried to comb through this and fix everything I find, but since it's a lot longer than previous chapters, I might have missed more than usual this chapter.

Kevin blinks, momentarily thrown by the sharp shift in trajectory of the conversation, "What do you mean?"

Connor looks as if he's suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, "I know we've been more than a little sheltered our entire lives, but you  _have_  heard of a date before, right?"

"Of course I have." Kevin responds defensively, "I just don't understand your question. I mean, we're on a date right now, aren't we?"

"We're checking the village's water supply for bacteria," Connor corrects, fiddling with the mechanism and taking a sample of the water, "This is work, not romance."

"It can be both." To prove his point, Kevin leans over and kisses his cheek. Connor immediately flushes and ducks his head, almost dropping the mechanism entirely. It's only been two weeks since  _it_  happened, and neither men are quite used to absent displays of affection. Kevin uses this fact to his advantage, kissing Connor randomly and upsetting the conversation when he isn't comfortable. This time, however, Connor McKinley is not easily swayed.

"No, it can't," Connor affirms, "We haven't been on a date yet. Not a real one, anyway." Glancing over at Kevin's argumentative expression, he explains, "There are clear distinctions between  _work_ ,  _hanging out_ , and  _dates_. And though we've done plenty of the two formers, we haven't done the latter."

And honestly, he might be right. Now that Kevin thinks about it, they really haven't been behaving like a stereotypical "couple." Sure, there's a lot more physical contact between them—hand holding, head leaning, kissing—but everything else has more or less stayed the same. But Kevin  _likes_ that about this new arrangement—he had been terrified that this whole development would change  _everything_  between them; so much so that it would have no resemblance to their former friendship. They could become _ghosts_ to what they are to each other right now. Isn’t that terrifying?

But apparently, Connor doesn't feel the same.

And though he knows that Connor is just being honest about his feelings, Kevin can't help but feel reprimanded, as if the desire for more is rather a criticism of what Kevin has given him already.

 "Well, it's not like I can take you to the movies here, now can I?" Kevin points out, a defensive barb in his voice. Before the elder can respond, Kevin forcibly puts their conversation on pause by reading off the flashing numbers on the screen. Connor blinks at the shift but quickly snaps out of it, though his mouth is noticeably tighter as he jots the numbers down and surveys the rest of the chart 

Clearing his throat, Connor nods and begins folding the chart back up, more forceful in his movements than before, "Everything's normal. We can head back now."

The air between them has changed, but Kevin forces himself to believe it's just the humidity. However, as they walk back in strained silence, Kevin can't shake the guilt clawing at his back.  _Why are you always so combative to criticism? He's going to break up with you, you know. And you'll deserve. You know you will—_

"I'm sorry," Kevin blurts out, stopping in his trek and turning around to face him, "I didn't mean to be so..." He looks down and sighs, gathering up the courage to ask point-blank, "Have I not been doing this right?"

Refusing to meet him halfway, Connor deflects, "You did fine. All you had to do was read off the numbers."

"Stop. Don't do that," Kevin says exasperatedly, loosening his tie and cutting his eyes up at Connor's neutral expression, "I meant  _us._ Am I, like, messing everything up?"

At his honesty, Connor finally softens, releasing a sigh that loosens the tension in his shoulders, "No, of course not. I didn't mean it like that. Trust me, this is... _great_.  _You_ , Kevin Price, are  _great_." He takes a step into Kevin's personal space and straightens the other's tie, his hands delicate but efficient, "I just think that it's very important to not entangle our relationship so deeply with our professional work and friendship. You know, just in case..."

Kevin stiffens, his stomach turning cold, "In case what?"

Connor sighs, placing both hands on Kevin's shoulders and trying to ease the tension, "I'm not implying that I don't...Look, I'm just being  _cautious_." His mouth twitches into a smile as he raises an eyebrow, "And come on. You're really trying to fault me for wanting a little  _romance_  in our lives?" 

The teasing lessens the metaphorical fist around his throat, allows Kevin to step back and look at things from an objective standpoint. It isn't fair to Connor to more or less keep their relationship the same as it once was, as if their romantic declarations didn't even  _matter_. And so what if things change? Why is change always regarded as an  _enemy_  rather than an ally?

"Romance, huh?" Kevin repeats, his voice noticeably lighter, "What about last night when I told you that you had a piece of potato stuck in your teeth? That was pretty romantic."

Connor tilts his head to the side, an unimpressed look on his face, "You think you're being cute but you're really just proving my point." 

Kevin scoffs, combating cheekily, "Oh please. I'm doing both." Finally, Connor cracks a full smile, which only widens when Kevin leans in and gives him a dry smack on the lips.

"Now this is what I'm talking about," Connor says approvingly, "You need to  _romance_  me, Kevin Price. Like they do in the movies."

"Okay," Kevin gets down on his knees, trying to hide his wince when he sees Connor's eyes widen and body tense, "No, stop. Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm being  _romantic_.

"Connor McKinley," Kevin continues grandly, trying to keep a smirk off his face and appear serious, "Will you please do me the honor of accepting my invitation for a romantic date this Friday?"

Connor mimics his overly serious face and feigns a defeated sigh, shrugging, "Well, it's no _Love Actually_  worthy moment, but it's a step up from blatantly quoting Disney movies."

"Hey, Disney  _invented_  grandiose declarations of love." Kevin argues, standing up and brushing the dirt and grass off his knees.

Connor rolls his eyes,  _finally_  answering, "Yes, Prince Charming. I will go out on a date with you."

"See," Kevin says smugly, waggling his eyebrows, "I told you I'm cute."

Connor snickers and begins to pull him along, reminding him, "Come on. I still have Neela's baptism to perform when we get back."

"You always talk business," Kevin grumbles mockingly, "You're really killing the  _romance."_

:: - ::

Kevin only realizes later in the week, particularly that Thursday before their date, that he really hasn't planned anything for them to do. Which is, he will admit, quite a big fucking disaster.

Locking himself in his own quarters after breakfast, Kevin paces around the tiny space and tries to come up with a plan, the dwindling minutes only increasing the heartbeat rattling in his chest.

 _Just a dinner?_ No, they eat together all the time; that's not romantic like Connor wants.  _Fine, a walk around the outskirts of the village?_ Well, he doesn't want them to be eaten by tigers, now does he?  _Uh, go on a picnic?_ That would be a great idea if Kevin didn't already know that any food outside will certainly lead to  _maiming_ , be it by swarms of bugs or one particularly hungry jungle cat.

Kevin stares very hard at his reflection in the dusty window, whispering emphatically to himself, " _Fuck_."

:: - :: 

In hindsight, perhaps it was a little naive to go to Nabulungi and Arnold for advice.

"Baba took Mama on a wild goose chase for their first date." Naba informs Kevin with a bright smile.

"You mean like a scavenger hunt?" Kevin mulls it over before deciding, "Ugh, I don't have enough time to plan one."

"I said a wild goose chase," She repeats, appearing a little disgruntled, "There was this one goose that went mad and terrorized the village. It had killed  _two_  babies before Baba and Mama were able to slaughter it together."

Arnold and Kevin stare at her for a moment before her boyfriend laughs nervously and says, "Sounds romantic." Nabulungi grins and nods, threading her hand with Arnold's. They make it look so easy, you know—to be  _in love._ Kevin is happy for them—of course he is—but he can't help to resent it, just a little. 

"What do you guys do?" Kevin asks, breaking the sappy moment between the other two, "You know, for dates."

"Well, yesterday, we sat on the floor of her living room and I explained the plot of all three Star Wars to her." Arnold tells him with a grin.

"They are  _so_  crazy, Elder Price," Nabulungi says seriously, "I didn't know that you white people liked incest so much."

Kevin blinks and glances over at Arnold, who shrugs and smiles sheepishly, "She got really hung up on that part."

Kevin groans and smacks a hand over his face, "This is  _hopeless_."

"Hey, lighten up," Arnold says, looping an arm around him, "You're not alone in this.  _We got you."_

"So what happens now?" Kevin looks worriedly at the rapidly disappearing sun, "I have about twenty-four hours."

"Don't you worry," Nabulungi comforts, "Arnold and I will start right away planning the best, most wonderful, most romantic date of all time!"

Kevin intakes a steadying breath, "Okay. How can I help?"

"Leave it to us," Naba says, much to Kevin's instant horror, "It's better for your own experience to be surprised." Before Kevin can tell her never mind, she tugs Arnold away hurriedly, "Come on. We have to start now."

"Don't worry, Best Friend," Arnold calls over his shoulder and he and Naba take off, "Remember:  _We got you."_

Kevin really regrets promising himself to never drink alcohol again. He figures that he may need it right now.

:: - ::

Arnold doesn't get home until Kevin has already restlessly fallen asleep, so when he grabs him by the arm in the morning and asks for particulars, his best friend just grins and shrugs, "Bon Jovi promised me to secrecy. You'll find out at sunset."

"Arnold, I'm begging you."

"Relax," Arnold says, yawning, "You've got nothing to worry about. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do," Kevin surprises even himself when he doesn't hesitate, "But—"

Arnold shushes him by grabbing his shoulders, _"_ Then _trust me."_

Kevin looks at him for a long time and then sighs, lowering his head in defeat, "Okay."

Arnold grins, slapping his back, "You're gonna love it. Just get Connor later this afternoon and go to Hamblin's Hut."

Kevin can only nod, and if he was anything like his old self, he would start praying right about now.

:: - ::

With sunset fast approaching, Kevin knocks on Connor's door, his body twitching with nerves. He's so nervous, which is  _ridiculous_  since they're already dating. Even a  _bad_  date won't stop that from being true... _right?_

When the door flies open, Connor steps out, his uniform neatly pressed and perfect. He's always looked handsome, but he's simply stunning tonight. Kevin doesn't know if it's because of the new tie or the romantic circumstances or the softening light hitting him just right, but all he can do is just stare and marvel at the man.

When Kevin doesn't greet him, Connor puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head, suspicious, "What?"

"Nothing," Kevin assures, grinning slyly, "I'm just—enjoying the view."

Connor blushes but he pretends to be unfazed, scoffing, "Ugh, lay off. I have a boyfriend."

"Lucky guy." Kevin leans in quickly and steals a kiss, crowding Connor against the wall and sighing deeply into his mouth. Turns out, Kevin isn't the only one who brushed his teeth in preparation for tonight, the prevalent taste of mint appearing on his tongue. They’ve both gotten significantly better at kissing since that abysmal first time, have been practicing long enough to know now the certain angles and moves that work. Connor doesn’t kiss as much as _devour_ him, as if he’s starving for it, _dying_ for it. Kevin can only follow his lead, meeting him at every angle and trying desperately to keep up. They’re suspended in this moment for what feels like hours, as hands wander from jawlines to shoulders to chests to hips.

"You know," Connor says raggedly against Kevin's mouth, "I wouldn't be... _opposed_  to delaying the date in favor of doing  _something else_." Kevin feels  _something_  brush against his thigh, and he doesn’t give himself enough time to actually consider before panic seizes control of his body. He abruptly pulls away and laughs nervously, trying to swallow down the heart currently wedged in his throat.

"No, no," Kevin says, his voice breaking when he sees a flash of disappointment in Connor's eyes, "I, uh—worked hard on this. Let's go on a date."

"Oh," Connor smiles warmly, shrugging, "That's fine. Lead the way, Prince Charming." And he sounds so sincere, but Kevin has to bite his tongue to keep himself from sputtering,  _But is it really fine? How long are you willing to wait? How long before you push_ that _like you pushed dates?_ But Kevin doesn't want to know these answers; he's not sure how he himself feels about  _that_ , refuses to give himself the time to think in fear of what his answers might be.

Even before the date has officially started, Kevin now finds himself on uneven footing, as if he's fallen behind and now has to work to catch back up. 

Connor loops their arms together as they walk but Kevin has never felt so far away from him, all attempts at conversation sounding distorted in his ears.

:: - ::

The distance between their living quarters and Hamblin's Hut is relatively small, but Kevin hopes that the two minute trek is long enough to defuse the tension that had wedged itself between the two men.

Connor fills the silence with small talk and jokes and Kevin tries to play along, smiling and wishing his heart would just steady already. However, their walk is interrupted by Ganya—one of their newest converts; a large, imposing figure with an easy smile and surprisingly wholesome sense of humor—running over to them and clapping Kevin on the back, "Kevin Price! My wonderful hero!" 

Kevin stiffens but doesn't push him away, passively returning the bone-crushing embrace, "Uh, Ganya, it's good to hear from you."

Ganya abruptly lets Kevin go, his attention diverging to Connor, "Elder McKinley! Did you hear what your lover did?" His voice sounds off—almost... _rehearsed._

Connor balks at the word lover, though he recovers smoothly, "Uh, no, I haven't." He glances over at Kevin, a bemused expression on his face, "What did my  _lover_  do?" 

"He was so brave! He helped me overcome my, uh..." Ganya pauses, a blank look dawning his face, " _Bulls_ —I think is the word?"

Kevin narrows his eye at him, confused, "Bulls?"

“Men that made me feel…scared?”

"You mean…bullies?" Connor guesses, earning a look of relief from Ganya.

"Yes! Yes! My  _bullies."_ Ganya points to Kevin, "This man beat up five of my  _bullies_. He was like a jungle cat! He moved  _so fast_  and dodged their bullets and bit off one of their fingers. It was very impressive. Don't you agree, Elder McKinley?" And that's when Kevin gets it, his confusion soon replaced with horror and embarrassment. Nabulungi must have set this whole thing up. She had to have enlisted Ganya to make up some bizarre story in order to, what? Make Kevin seem like some hero? 

Connor looks just confused, but he politely responds, "Yes, it sounds very impressive."

Ganya drops to his knees, "Thank you, Kevin Price. You are my hero."

Kevin clears his throat and tries to calm the flush threatening to rise to his cheeks, saying casually, "You're welcome, Ganya. Glad I could...help."

Ganya looks between him and Connor, feigning surprise, "Am I interrupting something?"

Connor smiles and nods, glancing at Kevin, "We're on a date, actually."

"Forgive me. I had  _no idea_." Ganya rises to his feet and steps out of their way, "Do not let me keep you. After all that Kevin Price has done for me, I cannot begrudge him any time on his date."

"Thanks." Kevin says as he and Connor sidestep Ganya and resume their walk. Kevin throws a glance over his shoulder, trying to communicate his question to the man through a series of bizarre facial expressions. Ganya smirks and flashes him a thumbs-up, mouthing  _You are welcome_.

"Jungle cat, huh?" Connor teases, grinning.

Kevin just sighs, "I honestly don't want to talk about it. Pretend that never happened."

Connor takes hold of his hand and squeezes, and it's strange how that one motion causes all the tension and anxiety to leave Kevin's body.  _If that was the worst Naba had to offer,_  Kevin thinks to himself, smiling down at their interlocked hands,  _then bring it on._

:: - ::

Nabulungi and Arnold are not found anywhere near Hamblin's Hut, but Hamblin himself comes out to usher them to a table immediately. Hamblin is a skinny, bald man, who has more moles on his face than teeth. He's always been nice to the Mormon missionaries, though he himself refuses to be converted. There's a strong, silent resilience to him that Kevin has always admired, has always wished that he himself had.

"You two are having the evening special," Hamblin tells them, refusing to hear their argument, "Hush, hush. It is the best for  _romance_."

Connor gives a panic look to Kevin, "Thank you, Hamblin, but—"

"Romance, huh?" Kevin says, the word triggering a sense of boldness, "You know what? That actually sounds great. Thank you." Hamblin bows humbly before shuffling off.

Connor leans in across the flimsy table, "We don't even know what it is."

Kevin shrugs, "Romance is spontaneous. Don’t you want an experience?"

Connor still seems unconvinced but holds his tongue, rapping his fingers nervously on the table surface. They continue to sit in silence, neither men able to think of anything to say. And Kevin  _knew_  this would happen: forced romance always lead to unnecessary pressure and nervousness and fear that maybe they just aren't compatible as boyfriend and an inflated sense of inadequacy and—

"So," Kevin blurts out, "On a scale of nine to ten, how awkward is this date?"

Connor chuckles, shrugging, "Eleven."

"It could be worse, you know," Kevin informs him, "We could be tracking down and slaughtering a murderous, rabid goose."

Connor gives him a bemused look, though he laughs regardless, "Yeah. I guess so."

Kevin relaxes under Connor's pinned gaze, freely admitting, "I'm nervous."

"For the mysterious, exotic food?" Connor teases, "I'm terrified."

"New can be good." Kevin reminds him, bumping the other's foot with his own under the table.

"Speak for yourself when he brings out a monkey brain."

Kevin smiles, looking down at his fidgeting hands, "This is my first date, you know."

Connor balks, "Liar." At Kevin's affronted look, the man shakes off his surprise to clarify, "Oh _come on._ I mean, just _look_ at you."

"What do you mean?"

"You're handsome, alright?" Connor says bluntly, looking a little embarrassed to be so point-blank, "You're so—so  _pretty_  and  _confident_  and  _articulate_. I just find it hard to believe that you weren’t beating girls away with a stick. Honestly, I'm surprised they didn't said screw it to gender roles and asked you out themselves."

"A few did," Kevin admits, shrugging, "Most of them tried to make some intricate plan so it would only leave me and them alone together. It still makes me cringe to think about it even now."

"Why didn't you go out with any of them?" Connor asks before his voice softens, "Was it because they were girls?"

Kevin thinks about this before ultimately shaking his head, "No, not really. One time, a boy asked me out during my junior year of high school. I said no to him, too."

Connor just looks even more confused, though he does have enough cognizance to joke half-heartedly, "I knew you'd be a heartbreaker." 

"I was just never interested in dating. I was devoted to other things—like scripture and training and prayer and  _Orlando_." He realizes how much of a nerd that makes him sound, so he reroutes the conversation, "What about you? How many dates have you been on?"

"Oh, I don't know," Connor says, leaning back in his chair and sighing, "About—ten or so? Some of them were repeats."

Kevin blinks, unsure on how to feel, "Oh."

Connor explains, "They were with girls from my church that my mom had set up for me. In hindsight, I think she was trying to prove something to the other members. I mean, a boy can only take so many dance and theatre classes before people start to talk."

"What were those dates like?" 

He shrugs, "They were...fine, I guess? They mostly just felt like a chore. I tried to enjoy them, but I always found my attention wavering to the male waiter than my date." He laughs mirthlessly, a distant look in his eye, "It's surreal to think about it now. And kind of sad."

A pause stalls the conversation only to be thwarted when Kevin prompts casually, “So you think I’m handsome?”

Connor rolls his eyes, but he seems to be anchored back into the present again, “Do you really need to ask that?”

Kevin shrugs, a crooked smile on his lips, “You know, you’re not too bad yourself.”

“Wow. Thanks,” Connor chuckles, “Now I know why you didn’t want to add more romance. You’re a terrible flirt.”

“I’m _incredible_ at flirting.” Kevin argues coyly, cutting his eyes up at him and ducking his head in order for part of his bangs to fall in his face. Connor gets a heated look in his eye, his gaze flickering to Kevin’s mouth.

Before anything else can be explored, Hamblin returns to their table. He deposits their meals in front of them, letting each boy get a full look of what they signed up for.

“Your orders are on the house,” Hamblin tells them, winking at Kevin, “A certain someone forfeited your bill before you arrived.” Kevin only pays half-attention to this, gazing at the thick, red soup with mild discomfort. He glances up only to find Connor wearing an expression of similar hesitation (and, as Kevin spitefully notices, a look that says _I told you so_ ). Not wanting to back down, Kevin holds the bowl to his lips and gulps down a large swallow, the mixture of mangled vegetables and something vaguely meaty swishing around in his mouth. It’s actually not that bad, if a little off-putting only due to the aftertaste. He feels both Connor’s and Hamblin’s expectant stares on him, so he makes a big show to smile and nod.

“Different,” Kevin appraises, “Not something I would usually order, but it’s actually pretty good.” He shoots a challenging look at Connor, daring him to follow his lead.

With much more reluctance, Connor tentatively drinks some of the soup, his face carefully neutral. He swishes it around in his mouth a couple times before swallowing it, and despite the slight grimace, he shrugs, “Yeah. I mean, it’s definitely an experience.” As they steadily finish their meals, they end up having a conversation with Hamblin about potential landscaping prospects.

Finally, as he and Connor are both more or less done with their soup, Kevin finally asks, “Hey, what’s this called anyway?”

“Oh. It’s our evening special for today,” Hamblin explains airily, “Mopane worm soup.”

As if in sync, Kevin and Connor share a look of horror, lean over to the side, and vomit.

:: - ::

“Again, so sorry about that,” Hamblin says again as the pale-faced boys pack up and leave, “You sure you don’t want dessert?”

“No, no,” Connor assures him, still trying to be civil and polite, “It’s fine. The food was delicious, but we should really get going.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Hamblin says, giving Kevin a significant look, “Kevin had told me all about it. You are going to Imani’s animal sanctuary.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kevin spies two familiar faces desperately trying to hide behind bushes, “Uh--”

“Really? That sounds fun.” Connor says, shooting Kevin an encouraging smile before directing his attention back to Hamblin, “I had no idea that this village even had a sanctuary for animals. Imani, is it? I’ve never heard of Imani before.”

“That is because she is a bitch,” Hamblin says casually, “She lives on the very edge of the village. Long ago, she forfeited contact with all tribes and chose to live with and care for the jungle animals. However, she is never above showing off her pets. She would appreciate the company, though she may not show it.”

Kevin has a bad feeling in his stomach, but Connor has actually gained some _color_ back in his face and is _smiling_ and—

Well, how bad could it really be? It just sounds like a zoo.

Kevin nods to Hamblin, “Could you give me the directions again?”

:: - ::

“So,” Connor prompts as they make their way through the village, “We ate worm. You were right; that sure was an experience.”

Kevin huffs a nervous laugh, “I always come through for you.”

Connor notices the sharp twist in Kevin’s smile and takes hold of his hand, “Hey, don’t worry about it. It was funny.”

“Have you ever vomited on a date before?” Kevin asks jokingly.

“On the inside, yeah.” Connor informs him, “But I think it was more of a bonding moment for us, you know?”

“Not romantic though.” Kevin points out, wearing a self-deprecating smile.

Connor can’t really lie, so he just shrugs, “I’m sure we can bounce back.”

“Yeah.” Kevin agrees hollowly.

After a few more minutes of walking, they finally come across the mossy, run down hut, looking just as Hamblin had described to them. It’s positioned just so that it comes across as sinking into the jungle, with half of the hut being swallowed by low-hanging branches and buzzing mosquitos. The smell hits them as soon as they spot the hut, a poignant scent of matted fur and unclean breaths. It’s rancid enough that it makes both boys tug the fronts of their shirts over their noses.

“Uh, Imani?” Kevin calls out, coughing a little, “I don’t know if you were told, but we’re here to visit—“

“Quit your yelling, White Boy!” A raspy, thick voice yells back from inside the hut, “You’re disturbing them.” Appearing in the doorway of the hut, a small, gangly old woman scowls at them. Kevin and Connor both quickly uncover their noses out of respect, but it leaves them coughing for a full minute.

“You want to see some animals?” The woman—Imani, Kevin presumes—asks, “This isn’t some zoo. They are not obligated to jump and beg for treats. If you want to come in, you must promise to give them dignity and expect none from them in return.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Kevin and Connor agree. Before letting them pass through the misshapen doorway, Imani sizes them up, scoffing as if unimpressed.

Though she doesn’t seem too happy about it, she goes deeper inside the hut, snapping, “Come in already. You’re making me nervous.”

The hut is more or less empty, save for a small bench, a ratty cot on the floor, and a dozen of wild jungle animals milling around.

“Oh,” Connor says faintly, “So they… _just run free_?”

“Of course,” Imani snaps, her gaze turning fond when she scratches the head of a wild-eyed monkey, “They come and go as they please. I am not their master.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Kevin wonders aloud, keeping a close eye on the old, fat tiger that licks absently at his jaws and lies forlornly in the far corner of the room.

“So is living with mankind,” She retorts, “At least beasts are honest about their savagery.” She seems pleased at their obvious wonder, though she is trying hard not to show it with a scowl, “My beasts are not hungry. I’ve already fed them. Just be careful not to insult them.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Connor says, hesitantly extending his hand to a multicolored bird. The bird chirps at him and flies away, landing on the shoulder of Imani.

“Don’t take it so hard,” Imani tells Connor, smiling a little, “She hates men—especially white ones.”

Connor laughs, his face lit up. While Connor watches the birds and tiger and monkeys and donkey and badger, Kevin just watches Connor. Slinking toward the corner, Imani idly pets the tiger, preening under the attention and companionship that not even her beasts can give her.

:: - ::

It goes well for fifteen minutes or so before it all goes to shit.

“So you’ve been on your own out here for fifty years?” Connor says, sitting on the small bench, “That’s so…Pardon the pun, _wild_.”

Imani shrugs, seemingly unfazed, “It takes that long to build up the trust that I have with them.” She smiles down at the beady-eyed badger clawing at her leg, “We understand one another.”

Kevin is carefully removed from most of the animals, bracing himself against the wall. Honestly, he’s been ready to leave since they arrived, but Connor seems so enthralled by the exotic display. Though it hasn’t helped with the romance, at least Connor is having fun.

That is, until Kevin spies something thick and black crawling up Connor’s pants leg.

“Uh, Connor?” Kevin draws his attention, pointing at the monster.

Though he seems to have taken everything else in stride, Connor freezes, locking his joints up and not daring to move, “W-What is that?”

“He likes you,” Imani says approvingly as the serpent slithers up Connor’s leg and winds itself around his torso, “Strange. He usually doesn’t take to strangers well. He bit me three times before he let me near him.” Connor doesn’t look flattered by this information as beads of sweat immediately start pouring down his face. His face becomes a ghostly shade of white, as if he’s already been drained of blood.

Kevin immediately goes to Connor’s side, though he isn’t able to scoop the snake up due to the fact that it is twisted around Connor’s body, “Is it dangerous?”

“Everything is dangerous,” Imani tells them, “But he is _venomous_ , if that is what you’re asking.” At that, Connor goes even more still, his eyes closing and head lolling back. Kevin panics before he checks his pulse and realizes that he had just fainted.

He _fainted_.

Kevin looks up from Connor’s still form in horror only to be met with Imani’s vaguely amused gaze.

“Huh,” The woman says to Kevin, “Of the two of you, I actually pegged _you_ as the pussy.”

:: - ::

Only a minute after Connor faints, Imani fully untangles the snake from his unconscious body and helps Kevin carry him out of the hut. As Kevin squats down and vainly prods at his face a couple times, Imani disappears back into the hut and reappears with a small vial of black liquid. She uncorks it and holds it under Connor’s nose. As if dunked in ice water, Connor immediately comes to, coughing and dry-heaving.

“What the hell is that?” Kevin demands, eyeing the vial.

“Shit.” Imani answers.

Connor starts fidgeting wildly, “Is it still on me? Is it still—“

“No, no, no.” Kevin assures him, holding Connor’s head and calming him down, “He’s inside. Imani got him off of you.”

“He never seen a redhead before,” Imani says, shrugging, “He was just curious.”

Holding Kevin’s comforting gaze, the panic slowly leaks out of Connor until the squirming boy finally stills. He looks between Imani and Kevin and lets out a rattling breath, wiping the sweat from his brow.

 _“Fuck.”_ Connor exclaims in a weak voice.

“So,” Kevin jokes humorlessly, “You’re scared of snakes, huh?”

“Next time, come around noon,” Imani advises, “Less snakes then.”

Connor pins his gaze to the oranging sky, noticing how the sun is beginning to descend beneath the horizon, “We should be getting back.” He looks down at his somewhat trembling legs, confessing, “I don’t know if I can walk just yet.”

“Let me help.” Kevin stands up and extends his hand, letting Connor depend wholly on him to keep both of them upright.

“Thank you, Imani,” Connor says weakly, “It was an experience.”

Imani seems to actually _smile_ a bit—just barely, “Come see me again and prove you aren’t a pussy. Okay, White Boy?” In response, Connor just smiles and holds up a thumbs-up.

Waving goodbye, the two boys start stumbling their way home.

One boy is shaken and just glad to be alive.

The other, however, is just barely holding it all together.

:: - ::

After a minute or so, Connor regains his senses and starts shakily walking on his own. He still looks vaguely traumatized by the whole experience, Kevin notices, and by whole experience, he means eating worms, vomiting, and potentially dying from a venomous serpent. The walk back to their quarters is silent, save for their rattled breathing. Kevin stops when they make it to the porch, knowing that—at the very least—Connor is due an explanation.

Kevin laughs shakily because if he doesn’t, he think he might actually cry instead, “Sorry I’m such a lousy date.”

“Believe it or not, it actually hasn’t been the _worst_ date I’ve ever been on.” Connor tries to joke, but then he catches sight of Kevin’s expression, “Hey, don’t be hard on yourself. You planned an— _interesting_ date.”

“I didn’t plan any of this,” Kevin admits, staring at Connor’s shoes, “I asked Nabulungi and Arnold for help. I was terrified and nervous and didn’t know what else to do. You wanted to be _romanced_ —just like the movies. I didn’t know how to give you what you wanted. I _tried_ —God, Connor, you have to believe me about _that_. Everything I did was to make you happy.” Kevin forces a smile, “But I guess I just ended up killing the romance, didn’t I?”

“This wasn’t supposed to be about _me_ ,” Connor tells him, sounding almost wounded, “I—I wanted this to be for _us_. You shouldn’t have…I didn’t want you to feel so much _pressure_ over this. That’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

Kevin studies the wooden grain of the porch steps, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t. _I’m_ sorry,” Connor cradles Kevin’s face, forcing him to look up at devastated blue eyes, “I should have known better than to leave all the planning to you just because I wanted to be _swept off my feet._ It was a totally _selfish_ move on my part. This is not what dates are supposed to be like.”

“Good,” Kevin says truthfully, “Because I was about to say, this has been _terrible_.”

Connor laughs, “Yeah, it’s been a trainwreck.”

Kevin smiles, cringing, “I made you eat _worms_.”

“I _vomited_ in front of you.” Connor exclaims, “And _after_ you called me handsome and everything. _Jesus Christ.”_

“And you passed out.” Kevin adds, laughing when Connor lightly slugs him in the arm.

“Did I at least look like Sleeping Beauty?”

“Of course,” Kevin assures, “Like a pale, sweaty, drooling prince.”

Connor sighs, sitting down on the porch steps and putting his head in his hands, “I don’t know what you see in me.”

“Are you kidding?” Kevin says incredulously, plopping down beside him, “ _You’re_ great. _I’m_ the hopeless mess in this relationship.”

“I think we’re both messes,” Connor observes, leaning his head on Kevin’s shoulder, “It’s kind of embarrassing, really.”

“I know,” Kevin agrees, looping an arm around Connor’s shoulder, “We should be better than this.”

“I understand if you don’t want to do dates now.” Connor tells him, “At least for a very, very long time.” Connor is letting him off the hook, Kevin realizes. Nothing has to change now; everything can go back to the way it was, just as Kevin liked it. Kevin should be happy about that. Except…

“No,” Kevin decides, “You were right before. We’re not just friends and coworkers anymore. We’re _boyfriends_. And we should act like it.” He turns his head and kisses Connor’s cheek, “I want to go on romantic dates and flirt with you until you’re as red as your hair.”

Connor snuggles up closer to him, adding, “I want to learn more about you.”

Kevin grins, “I want to beat Naba and Arnold at couples’ two-legged races.”

“I _really_ want to see you naked.” They both laugh, young and careless and adoring.

“I’ll plan the next date,” Connor bargains, “It won’t be as intricate. Dinner and a walk. How about that?”

Kevin sighs in relief, “Sounds great.”

Conversation dies as their attention is diverted by the perfect view of the sun setting. Connor takes hold of Kevin’s hand and squeezes tightly.

“I like this,” Connor says softly, a teasing smirk on his face as he adds pointedly, “It’s very _romantic_.”

“I told you,” Kevin says, feeling light and happy and warm, “I always come through for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Hint: First Time (or, as I call it in my notes, Kevin's Sexuality Crisis, Part II; also, it may not be what you think/hope).


	9. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Kevin struggle with a foreign concept and what it means for their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very important chapter to me because /reasons/, and I tried to make it as genuine and non-cheesy and non-overdramatic as possible.  
> TRIGGER WARNING: Mildly graphic references to past sexual assault.

About two months later, they're lying on his bed with little consideration of the outside world around them, both taking this time to spread their hands and mouths across the landscapes of each other's bodies. Kevin kisses along Connor's jawline as his arms reach up to loop around the boy's neck, his hands playing idly with the red strands of his hair. Connor's face nuzzles Kevin's hair, his ragged breathing rapidly becoming more laborious as his own hands slowly migrate down Kevin's torso. It's far from the first time that they've done this—sloppily necking like hormonal teenagers in some B-rated movie—but this is the farthest that they've ever gotten, kissing and groping with all their clothes on and spit being the only fluid that they've swapped. 

And it's good—yeah, it's  _good,_ but when Connor's hands finally reach Kevin's crotch and his deft fingers slide off his belt and unzip him, Kevin breaks out of the spell and shakes his head, breathing out a soft but firm, "No." Like always, Connor immediately stops and pulls back, sitting up so that he's straddling Kevin's waist. And like always, there's the briefest flash of disappointment and slight twist in his ever patient smile, but he never pushes or complains.

"Sorry." He apologizes, laughing a little and holding his hands over his own protruding pants, "Got carried away."

Kevin props himself up on his elbows, giving him a small smile, "It's fine. I just...don't want to."

"Yeah, of course," Connor assures him, leaning in and chastely kissing him, "That's okay. I don't mind waiting." Though he says it offhandedly and even  _reassuringly_ , Kevin's own smile dims, his stomach twisting in knots.

They're  _waiting_ , as Connor always likes to say. Of course, sex has always been thought of as an  _inevitable_ , as if it's never even been up for discussion. To Connor, it will happen  _eventually_ , so he is perfectly fine with waiting.

_Waiting._

Kevin is really starting to hate that word.

:: - ::

_Sex._

Kevin writes the word in the dirt of his garden with a stick, trying to break it down in an attempt to get the word to actually  _mean_  something to him. He’s always regarded it as such an _abstract_ concept. Growing up in such a conservative environment, sex was propped up as something either holy or sinful, an activity only reserved for married couples and for furthering Heavenly Father's grandiose plan. It was sacred and valuable and  _tempting_. That's the word that was used most often when it was explained him and his peers: temptation.  _Everyone feels temptation of the flesh,_  they would explain. It never made sense to Kevin. After all, what was so  _tempting_ about it? Why would anyone even want to do it if not solely for procreation and furthering Heavenly Father's plan? 

"Sex." He whispers, like it's a dirty thing. It doesn't send shockwaves to his groin nor does it bring about a raw sense of longing in his gut. To think of it in relation to himself, it only brings emptiness and a vague, faint sense of distaste. Kevin thinks back to all the boring abstinence lessons of his youth, trying to recall any indication that  _this_ —how he felt—was normal.

He hears the telling footsteps of Arnold coming this way and quickly marks out the word in the dirt, hoping to quell the flush on his face before his friend reaches him.

:: - ::

Facts that Kevin knows to be true:

Connor likes Kevin. Kevin  _really, really_  likes Connor. Connor  _really, really_  wants to have sex with Kevin. Kevin does not want to have sex with Connor.

These facts seem to contradict one another.

After all, Kevin has never heard of a romance  _without_  sexual implications. Romance has always had strings attached, and no one seems to really mind those strings.

Except Kevin.

But, as he reasons with himself, he doesn't really know for sure if he'd hate sex. Actually, given the general consensus, there's quite the mounting evidence that Kevin will really  _like_  sex, just as everyone else does. So what if he doesn't really look forward to it like everyone else? That doesn't mean anything. It's nerves, he reasons.

Yeah. It's just nerves.

:: - ::

Kevin and Nabulungi are having a quiet afternoon together, and though he really doesn't want to ruin it with any awkwardness, he's already figured that going to _her_ about this is actually the _least_ awkward option possible.

"Naba," He prompts, watching as she plucks wild flowers from the field and playfully threads them into his hair, "Have you had sex before?"

She doesn't balk at the question and says point-blank, "Of course."

"Okay," Kevin says, his mouth growing dry, "Good. Um—I was just wondering if you could, uh...tell me about it. I mean, what it felt like." He clears his throat, clarifying, "Not like  _actual details_. Just whether or not it hurt or was gross or...whatever."

Her brow furrows, "Why?"

"If it makes you uncomfortable, just forget about it. I was just curious. I've  _never_...you know."

"But aren't you with Elder McKinley?" At Kevin's shy nod, Naba elaborates, "You haven't had sex yet?"

Averting his gaze, Kevin shakes his head.

"Well," Naba begins carefully, "I don't know what sex between two men is like, but I think that the  _feeling_  must be the same."

"And?"

"Sometimes it can be uncomfortable—at first," Naba says, "But as long as you both want it, it feels natural and  _good_. Sex is rarely so serious. It is fun and silly and nice."

"It's a little gross though, isn't it?" Kevin says, wondering why he's becoming so defensive on this fact, "I mean, when you think about it."

"The thought of it is nothing like the feeling." Naba assures him. She pauses, studying him, "You have never done  _anything_  sexual?"

Though he knows that  _that_  memory is the furthest from  _sexual_  and more related to  _power_ , Kevin can't help but flush and stutter, "Not consensually."

Her brow furrows, and he’s painfully reminded of the fact that English is not her native language, "What does that word mean?"

Kevin's breathing skips, "I didn't want to. But it happened anyway."

Naba freezes, her eyes widening. 

He's never told anyone about it before—never felt the need to; he's  _fine_. He's  _fine_. He's  _fine_ —but he's never  _hidden it_. He's always made it  _very clear_  to everyone that he is not to be assigned on  _any_  activities or duties with the General. He's never in the same room alone with him. He's never _talked_  to him since that day. He’s refused to even _look_ at him, save for darting glances when they had to baptize him into their church.

By now, _everyone_ knows that Kevin Price does not go anywhere near him.

But it's different, to say it aloud finally. To admit what happened.

Naba reaches out a hand, her voice soft, "Elder Price—"

"I'm fine." Kevin smiles tightly and changes the subject.

:: - :: 

The next time that it happens, Kevin chooses not to resist. As Connor's hands reach his groin area, Connor pauses, shaking himself from the heat of the moment and pulling back. However, this time, Kevin shakes his head and says shakily, "Just do it."

Connor glances up at him with wide eyes, "Are you sure?"  

Kevin can't even look at him, keeping his eyes pinned on the ceiling, "Yes."  _Just get it over with._

Connor hesitates, "Kevin, we don't have to—"

"I said yes,"Kevin reminds him firmly, somehow keeping the panic out of his voice, "Fuck me. Come on. I want you to do it."

"Uh...Okay?" Connor says tentatively, as if he's become so _shy_ all of a sudden. As if this hasn't _obviously_ been what he's wanted for the past months. 

Kevin closes his eyes and _breathes_ , forcing himself to relax. When Connor unzips his pants and touches him, Kevin tenses and goes still, the new sensation surprising him and—and  _gutting him_. 

It feels... _weird_. It should feel good. Kevin is too busy trying to keep himself from outwardly panicking to analyze whether or not it's a _good weird._

Just as soon as the touch appears, it's gone. Kevin unclenches his eyes to find Connor staring at him in confusion and concern. And this _isn't_ how it's supposed to go. He's not supposed to just  _stop_.

Kevin grabs at Connor, but the boy slaps his hand away.

 _"What are you doing?"_  Connor asks, looking absolutely bewildered and—and  _worried_. 

"Isn't this what you want?" Kevin snaps, "Let's just do it already. I'm sure I'll like it."

"Kevin, don't do it just because  _I_  want to," Connor tells him, "It's something we decide on  _together_. I didn't mean to seem so—so  _forceful_  about it and pressure you." Connor pulls away from him and stands up, leaving Kevin splayed open and vulnerable on the bed, "If you're not comfortable, just  _tell me_. It's not a big deal. We can _wait_ as long—"

 _“Stop it,”_ Kevin blurts out forcefully, the word triggering some impulsive reaction within him, “Stop saying _wait_. I _hate_ that word.” He laughs shakily, trying to diffuse the trembling in his hands, " _I don't want to wait._ I don't even know if I want to have sex  _ever."_

The declaration is punctuated by stunned, horrifying silence.

Connor and Kevin just stare at each other, the confession seeming to suck all the air out of their lungs.

"I don't..." Connor tentatively sits back down on the bed, leveling him with a puzzled look, "What do you mean?" Kevin feels like he can't even breathe, but then Connor puts an arm around him and everything sorta feels alright again.

"I don't want to have sex with you," Kevin admits, hating how his words seem to punch Connor in the gut, "I've never wanted to have sex with—with  _anyone_. I hate it when you tell me that we can just _wait_ because we’ve never even really _talked_ about having sex. You shouldn’t assume that sex is on the table just because we’re in a relationship. And I _know_ you've wanted to have sex with guys your entire life, but I just…I don’t know if _I_ can ever give you that.”

"Okay." Connor says, even though it doesn't seem like it’s _okay_ —his brow is furrowed, his eyes are glazed and distant, his mouth is pulled down into a frown.

Tentatively, Connor asks softly, "Are you not... _attracted_  to me?"

"Of course I am," Kevin answers automatically before he stops and thinks about what that word actually _means,_ correcting himself, "I—I mean, I think so?"

He can feel the arm around him stiffen, already feels Connor start to pull back, "You  _think_  so?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Kevin asks defensively, "I've never felt like this before. About  _anyone_." He meant that to sound _romantic_ , to prove how _special_ Connor is to him. Instead, it does the opposite. Connor recoils at this declaration, as if it’s further proving a point that Kevin really doesn’t want him to believe.

“So you don’t know anything for certain except that you don’t want to have sex with me?” Connor clarifies, and he seems like he’s trying not to be mean about it, but the blunt interpretation delivered in a sharp voice has Kevin wincing.

Kevin shrinks into himself, finds himself blurting out, “I don’t know. I guess?”

Connor pulls his arm away and stands up, his back facing Kevin. He can practically see the gears churning in his head, the man already leaping to unfounded and hurtful conclusions.

"Are you mad?" Kevin asks. Connor doesn't respond for a beat too long.

"No. I'm just—having trouble understanding what you’re telling me," Connor admits carefully, adding, "How am I supposed to know that you feel different about me than you do about one of your friends?"

"It's different." Kevin assures him hurriedly.

Abruptly, Connor scoffs, and he's never sounded so cruel and selfish, "But _how?"_

Kevin is thrown by it, shaking from the recoil, "I can't explain it."

Connor stays silent.

“If sex really means that much to you,” Kevin says uncertainly, “Then let’s just do it. Forget I ever said anything.”

"It's not about whether or not we have sex,” Connor affirms, sounding frustrated and boxed in, “That doesn't matter to me right now.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

Connor sighs, finally turning around to face him. And his expression isn’t mean or uncaring, but it isn’t what Kevin has become used to.

"You know,” He says, his voice sad, “I can't help but think back to when I asked for a date and you obviously didn't want one—"

Kevin tries to interject, "It's not that I didn't  _want_  one—"

Connor talks over him, "And I thought it was just you being coy and cute. But now I just—" He sighs again, looking so... _defeated_ , "I'm just wondering if you even feel the same about me. I know that you  _like_  me, but do you  _like_  me like I  _like_  you?"

He looks at Kevin expectantly, but Kevin just stares at him and admits, "I don't understand the question."

"You don't like public displays of affection," Connor starts to list, too caught in the moment of his own misery and confusion that he doesn't notice that he is making Kevin feel so very _small_ , "Ideas of romance seem alien to you and always seem forced on your part. You don't like to talk about your feelings. You still treat me like your sort-of-friend rather than a boyfriend. You only seem to kiss me when you're trying to make a point—"

"That's not true—"

"And now you tell me that you don't know if you're attracted to me." Connor finishes, looking almost devastated at his supposed "revelation."

Kevin watches him, "Do you really think those things?"

Connor narrows his eyes at him,  _daring_  him, "Are you trying to tell me that they aren't  _true?"_

And it hurts. That hurts.

Kevin averts his gaze and swallows hard, saying softly, "I'm just trying to be open and honest, and you're being a real dick to me right now. Maybe  _that's_  why I don't like to talk about my  _feelings_."

"Don't you dare turn this around on me. You're the one—" Connor stops himself, the anger dripping from his face. Because right now, Connor is breaking Kevin's heart, and there must be a look on his face that shows it.

He sits down on the bed again, putting a small but noticeable distance between them. He looks at Kevin and visibly softens, "I'm sorry."

Kevin holds Connor's gaze, "What happens now?"

Connor runs a hand through his hair, looking just as lost as Kevin feels. They stay silent until the heat of the moment fades from their heaving chests, their temperaments more or less returning to normal. 

"Let's just be rational about it," Connor suggests, "Do you think that maybe you're just  _turning it off_?" Under any other circumstance, the reference would make Kevin laugh. Now, it just makes him feel affronted.

"If it was a choice," Kevin says tersely, "I would choose you."

Connor smiles, though he doesn't look much happier, "I know that."

"It's never been a conscious decision—whether to feel a certain way or not,” Kevin attempts to formulate the correct explanation, feeling like the answer is just running through his closed fists, “It's just that the—the  _temptation_  that everyone warned us about? I've never felt it."

Connor huffs, saying dryly, "Lucky you."

Kevin stiffens, pointing out harshly, "Right now, I don't feel very _lucky_."

Connor seems to be trying very hard to come up with some sort of  _explanation_ , as if that would make anything better. He wants a better justification for this than one that he's already found for himself or the one that Kevin has given him. He seems to finally think of something because he goes very, very still. The hard lines in his expression soften as he turns and looks at Kevin with a gentle, comforting gaze.

He begins hesitantly, "Don't get angry at me."

Kevin can't really promise that, so he just bargains, "I'll keep an open mind."

"There's this…this _rumor_ that I had heard months and months back," Connor says, "Before we were even together."

Kevin blinks, "Okay." He waits for Connor to elaborate, but the man is hesitant to continue. Finally, he prompts testily, “What?”

"You don't like to be around the General." Connor states plainly, watching Kevin carefully for some sort of reaction. And he gets one.

Kevin recoils, feeling as if he's been shot. The air is knocked out of his lungs. He looks wildly at the flushed white walls, but suddenly he’s brought right back to the camp. He feels the dirt under his fingernails again, the General's rancid breath hitting his face, the strong hands forcing his pants down, the Book of Mormon being shoved—

 _They know. They know. Everyone knows._ Connor _knows._

He feels the exact same invasion of privacy and self as he did that day, as if it's happening all over again.

Kevin doesn't even realize he'd started trembling until Connor lays a hand on his shoulder, and it doesn't bring any sense of comfort. It feels as foreign and unwelcome as the General's hands on his shoulders, forcing him still…

"I can't even imagine what that must have felt like," Connor's voice is distant but his words land like a gut punch, "I—I'm here for you. If you want to talk about it. And you know, maybe talking about it can relieve your... _intimacy problems_."

Reality comes back in full focus.

Kevin feels himself grow still, " _What_  did you say?" There's a rough, cold inflection to his voice that seems to startle Connor.

He looks at Kevin with wide, innocent eyes, "I've heard that assault can—"

"Get out."

"Kevin, I'm just trying to—"

"I said, _get out,"_ Kevin shoves Connor away from him, not being able to control his volume, "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

He throws his pillow at him, and Connor lets it hit him. He's never looked so devastated, but Kevin doesn't  _care_. Kevin hugs his knees to his chest and hides his face, wanting him to just go away. From the wooden creaks in the floor, he can tell that Connor is walking toward him, but the muffled sound of the other elders' voices in the hallway stops him. They're coming in to check on him, which is the very  _last_  thing that he wants. 

"Don't—Don't let them. Please." And he hates that he's begging  _Connor_  of all people right now, but the thought of them seeing him like this has him swallowing any semblance of self-respect.

Connor seems to understand and moves quickly to the closed door, opening it up and closing it firmly behind him. Kevin hears Connor brace himself against the door, hears his commanding voice block and deflect the other elders from coming in. 

He tries to anchor himself to the muffled voices, but rough hands keep pulling him back to that night, to the laughter of his assailants and the silence of his God and the feeling of being so, so _cold_ and so, so _alone_.

:: - :: 

His room is absolutely suffocating and it's killing him to stay there. By now, about two hours have passed, and Kevin is slowly crawling back from the ledge. He's pulled himself out of the memory, pressing his uncut fingernails into his forearm and reminding him where he is. He's safe. He's fine.

Only one of those is true.

He can't stay here anymore. He doesn't know where he'll go, but he just can't stay in this room right now.

He buckles his pants back up and looks out the window. Only a sliver of the sun remains seen on the horizon. Wherever he goes, it needs to be close enough and safe to spend the night. Unintentionally, he unfocuses his gaze and catches sight of his reflection. His hair is tousled and his face is still pink and puffy. He looks so  _ruined_. 

Kevin braces himself before he crosses the room and opens the door, determined to make a speedy exit.

He doesn't expect to see Connor leaning against the wall near his door. He looks like he's been there awhile, as if he never left at all in the first place. And Kevin remembers the ever so occasional muffled argument outside in the hallway, as if Connor has stayed and protected him from anyone ever coming in.

Kevin just stares at Connor, watching as the boy sucks in a breath and looks so rattled.

"Kevin, I'm sorry." Connor says, his voice hoarse and sincere, "I take it back. Please, can we talk? I—"

Kevin walks away from him and doesn't look back.

:: - :: 

He stays the night at Nabulungi's hut, and though she doesn't press him, he tells her everything that happened anyway.

"Elder McKinley is an asshole," She decides, letting him rest his throbbing head on her lap and stroking his hair, "But he is a  _stupid_  asshole—not a mean one. It sounds like he was just scared and confused."

Kevin closes his eyes, and though he doesn't want to ask this question—would rather crumble it up and throw it away, pretend it never even crossed his mind—he asks, "Should I break up with him?"

Naba asks, "Do you want to?"

"No." The answer is immediate and certain, and it surprises him.

"Then talk to him," She advises, "Tell him everything that you know to be true. If he still does not agree and tries to argue, he isn't worth your time."

Kevin sighs and nods. 

"And Elder Price?"

He usually hates being called that, but it's different with Naba. When someone else says it, they say it like the title comes with expectations of greatness. It reminds him of all that he was promised and all that he had failed. Elder Price is not just a name but an _identity_ that he stripped away long ago.

But Nabulungi says so casual and offhanded, as if it is just a _name_. And when she says it, Kevin likes to pretend that maybe it just is.

"Yeah?"

"You need to talk to someone about the other thing," Naba says, thankfully not saying it outright, "There are others in the village that have been...assaulted. I am going to get a few of them to meet with you, if you want. I will not force you, but it will make you feel better about the whole thing."

The refusal of the offer is on the tip of his tongue. After all, he knows for  _certain_  that—especially in this village—there are a lot of people who had it _worse_. It wasn't that bad, now that he thinks about it with a clear mind. He knows that he could deal with it by himself.

But then again, he doesn't  _have_   _to_.

"Okay," Kevin agrees softly, "Thank you, Naba."

She kisses the top of his head, "Of course. I would do anything for one of my boys."

:: - ::

He returns to the house in the late morning. As soon as he crosses the threshold of the dining room, every single elder falls silent. Even Arnold, who usually doesn't pick up on social cues, gets quiet, a worried expression in his typically smiling face. Idly, Kevin wonders what exactly Connor told them but ultimately decides that it doesn't really matter.

"Elder McKinley," He politely addresses the wide-eyed district leader, who's staring at him like he never expected to see him again, "Can I speak with you in private for a few minutes?" Everyone turns to Connor, who seems to shocked and scared to reply. Kevin continues hesitantly, "If you want to talk later, that's fine—"

"No, no. Now is...good." Connor gives his clipboard to Elder Church, "You can continue to assign the duties for today. I'll be back."

Kevin smiles awkwardly at all of them before turning around and leaving once again, hearing Connor quickly stand up from his seat and follow after him. Kevin leads Connor to the garden because, on the chance that it is over between them, it's only poetic to end it here.

As soon as Kevin stops and turns to face him, Connor opens his mouth and tries to speak, but Kevin stops him with a raised hand, "You don't get to talk. Please, just listen for right now." Connor closes his mouth and nods slowly, winding his arms behind his back and meeting his gaze.

"First of all," Kevin begins the well-rehearsed and articulate speech, "No one  _made_  me the way that I am. The General didn't do that. And that was cruel to even imply that he did." He sighs, "And yes, it happened, but I don't want to talk about it with you; at least not right now. Nabulungi is arranging plans for me to deal with it. So. There's that.

"Second of all, I don't know whether or not we'll ever have sex. I guess we just have to wait and see if I'll ever want to break that boundary with you, but the _expectation_ of eventual sex is off-limits now. And I know that I should have told you a lot sooner and, yeah, maybe I do have trouble with being open and honest sometimes. I need to work on that, but that doesn't mean that I don't like you and want to be with you.

"And I had no idea that you are just as insecure about our relationship as I am," He tells him, bridging the huge gap between them, "I should have known, but I guess I just like to put you on this  _pedestal_  and pretend that I'm the only one who gets nervous and afraid. And that isn't fair to you.

"And the last thing," Kevin continues, smiling a little, "I still  _really_  like you. I still  _really_  want to be with you. You're so much more than just a  _friend_  to me. I need you to realize that and never doubt me when I tell you that it's true. And I need you to understand that romance and—and  _love_  can exist without sexual attraction. At least,  _I_  think it can."

There's a moment of raw silence where Kevin only hears the flicker of his heartbeat until Connor clears his throat, "Can I talk now?"

At Kevin's nod, he sighs and begins quiet but firm, "Throughout my entire life,  _everyone_ —even the people that I loved most in the world—made me feel ashamed for the way that I was. They treated me and even _told_ me outright that I needed to be _fixed_ rather than _loved_. It made me feel so  _alone_  and  _disgusting_  and  _broken_.

“And I cannot  _believe_  that I made someone else feel that way—especially someone that I care about a whole lot. And I've thought about all that I  _said_  and all that I  _didn't say_  and how I refused to  _listen_  to what you kept saying  _over and over again_ , and  _I'm sorry._ I'm sorry that I made you feel like you weren't enough. Because you  _are_  enough, Kevin. Even if you don't want to be in a relationship with me anymore, I need you to know that you will  _always_  be enough." Kevin ends up winding his arms around Connor, pulling him into a hug. 

"Sorry for not explaining it well earlier," Kevin apologizes into Connor's hair, "It's the first time I've ever tried to tell anyone about it."

"No, you were right," Connor affirms, "You were trying to be honest, and I was being a total dick about it."

"Well, glad to know that you aren't perfect." Kevin teases dryly, "Takes a lot of pressure off of me."

"I was  _awful_  to you." Connor groans, unable to let it go.

"You'll make it up to me." Kevin assures him, "Besides, at least we have our boundaries finally established. And no more secrets. Deal?"

Connor nods, "No more secrets."

When they pull back, it's like they're truly  _seeing_  each other for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Kevin is asexual. I've been dropping major hints about that fact since the beginning of the story, and I'm very glad that a lot of people picked up on that. It's become my personal headcanon that he is (there's also a strong belief of mine that he is also aromantic, but that will not depicted in this particular story). Here are some answers to potential discourse:
> 
> First and foremost: Don't you dare hate Connor for acting like that. Asexuality is a rough concept for nearly everyone to understand, ESPECIALLY if that someone has never been exposed to the idea before. It's definitely not something that a person (especially a partner) goes, "Okay. Cool. Sounds legit." It's confusing and frustrating and difficult to fully accept at first. To portray it otherwise would be a great disservice to those in the community.  
> It was also very important to establish that Connor isn't perfect. He's not always so compassionate and understanding and just the embodiment of the /perfect boyfriend/, because that is a very disingenuous and toxic myth to circulate. No one is immune to insecurity and misplaced anger and confusion. In this story, Kevin is sometimes a prick and Connor is sometimes a prick. That doesn't mean they aren't good people and compatible for each other; it just means that they are human.  
> Another thing to keep in mind: Asexuality is a /spectrum/. It isn't cut and dry as "I will never have sex. I will never feel curious about sex. I will never want to have sex." That may be true for some people on the spectrum, but to others, sex is a confusing matter to get into. I will just say that Kevin is on that spectrum somewhere.


	10. First Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thought on latter days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao, this is like the cheesiest thing that I've ever written. I'm sorry but then again I'm kinda not.

One thing that Kevin has learned to live with is the uncomfortable fact that Connor  _loves_  holding hands—specifically  _Kevin's_  hand. Like,  _all the time_.

At first, he was so  _shy_  about it that Kevin's distaste for public displays of affection was easily beaten by his fondness for the way Connor would blush and his hand would flex and twitch at his side before hesitantly seeking Kevin's out. However, nowadays, after it having been eight months since Kevin kissed him in his room, Connor grabs his hand like it's second nature whenever they're in a five foot radius of one another. It's not Kevin's favorite, and he does get easily embarrassed each time he does it in front of people, but it makes Connor smile in a way that he rarely sees any time else. 

So Kevin has learned to shut the fuck up and hold his boyfriend's hand.

One day, after they've done their set of chores, they tuck themselves away from prying eyes by migrating to an open clearing in the nearby edge of the thick jungle. Kevin's legs are stretched out in the soft grass as he leans against a large sturdy boulder. Head in Kevin's lap, Connor looks up towards the sky, listening to Kevin rant about nothing and everything and only making fun of him a little bit.

"If they postpone shipment again, I might  _explode_ ," Kevin declares dramatically, kinda wishing he  _was_  faking the despair in his voice, "You know, I've heard that people can  _die_ from withdrawal."

Connor scoffs, pointing out, "I don't think they mean the kind from  _caffeine_ , Sweetheart."

Kevin's palm is spread out flat against Connor's chest and the boy absently tugs and strokes his long fingers, seemingly enraptured by the newly formed callouses on his hands that match his own. He can feel Connor's heart beating steady in his chest, a lulling rhythm that soothes Kevin in a way that he doesn't quite understand. 

He hasn't responded in a beat too long, so Connor's gaze shifts from the sky to meet his. Connor's eyes are the kind of blue that people write poetry about, but Kevin was always shit at poems in school and can only think of basic adjectives like  _pretty_  and  _deep_  and  _lovely_. Connor smiles, as if he can read the adoration on Kevin's face. He raises his head up a little, requesting quietly, "Kiss me," and Kevin does, leaning down and pressing their lips together.

It's a slow kiss, not quite chaste but not fervent either. It's a kiss that is patient and lazy and soft. It's a kiss that tastes like a promise of a latter day together.

Kevin pulls back first, though he only separates their faces by a few inches. He snickers at how Connor's eyes has fluttered shut, the increased beating of his heart, "You're so clingy."

Connor opens his eyes and narrows them, playfully pushing Kevin's face away, "Yeah, well, you're  _emotionally_  clingy. Which is worse?" Kevin shrugs, too lazy to draw up a pros and cons. Instead, he lets a silence settle between them, their minds wandering elsewhere while their bodies stay anchored to one another.

Connor is in a reflecting sort of mood today, so it isn't that much of a surprise when he asks, "Are you going to college? After we get back?" Kevin doesn't like to think about being anywhere but Uganda. It feels  _wrong_ , in some twisted sort of way. Strangely, he feels like he's only ever lived here, like the first nineteen years of his life had been just an elaborate dream that he'd only just woken up from.

However, Kevin has always pictured himself seeking a high education, so he quells his nerves and tells him as much.

Connor hums, "I think I will, too. I don't know where though. It's not like we can go to BYU anymore."

Kevin huffs a laugh, "Yeah, I don't think they need to fill their quota on heretics." He thinks about this, admitting, "I don't know where I would like to go. Somewhere close to my family, I think."

"Somewhere far away from my family, I think." Connor says, a touch of sadness evident in his voice.

Kevin's heart breaks a little, and while he knows that his own relationship from his family is  _nowhere_  near perfect, it's not even close to what Connor is facing now with his relatives. It isn't  _fair_  to either of them, how the Church has warped the minds of their loved ones against them. They're still just  _kids_ —they shouldn't know what it's like to be alone.

But they aren't  _really_  alone, are they? They have the people of Kitguli and the other elders and each other, and it's not the family that they had before or even dreamed of having in the future, but it's the best that either could have hoped for.

"I want us to go to the same college," Kevin admits, trying to shake Connor from his melancholy, "We'll get a nasty, cheap apartment on the rotten side of town, and we'll live off of boiled noodles and dessert cakes from the seven-eleven. And we can watch shitty cable tv and steal our neighbor's wifi." 

Connor snorts, smiling despite himself, "Sounds hard."

"It will be hard," Kevin freely admits, "But it'll be worth it. And we'll be happy."

Connor lets go of his hand to rake his fingers lightly down Kevin's torso, the sensation causing Kevin's skin to prickle and heart to skip. To him, it's an addictive sort of sensation, one that has Kevin sighing and pressing against Connor's hand. 

"You're like a cat," Connor pokes fun, earning Kevin's affronted glance, "And you call  _me_  the clingy one."

Kevin lifts the boy's head off of him and looms over him, bracing each of his knees and hands on either side of Connor's body. Watching how Connor flushes, Kevin leans down and lightly pulls at Connor's lower lip with his teeth. Connor shudders, the superior glint in his eye fading away. Kevin smirks and kisses the base of his throat, making his way slowly but surely upward until he captures his lips in his own. Connor groans and trembles before him, his hands knotting in the grass and pulling restlessly. Kevin kisses him and envisions their future together, of walks in the park and shoulders pressed together and domestic fights about whose turn it is to wash the dishes.

Kevin can't even imagine a latter day without him, so that's why he pushes their bodies flush together and smiles into his mouth when Connor gasps and shakes. And it isn't quite  _sex_ in the biblical sense _,_ but it's enough to make both boys pant and moan and think that nothing could possibly be any better.

:: - ::

"I love you." Connor tells him one day—much later—when they're in the middle of  _dish duty_  of all things. Kevin drops the plate that he'd been drying with a towel, only distantly hearing it shatter on the hard wooden floor.

Connor looks down at it and quirks a half-smile, "Well, I should've known that was coming."

Kevin can't help but stare dumbly at Connor, not quite sure he heard him right. But then his brain catches up with his surroundings and he opens his mouth, because there's really only one right way to respond to that kind of thing, right? However, Connor stops him with a finger to his lips, shaking his head. He's smiling, and he looks happy and blissful and in love.

He says, "I don't want you to say it back right now. It's not a call and response sort of thing. I just wanted to let you know that—at this very point in time—I realized that I love you. You can let me know when you feel it, too."

After a pause, Kevin numbly nods, though he doesn't know what sort of new feeling that he should be anticipating—this grand  _realization_  that will have him blurting it out at the most inopportune time, "Okay."

Connor kisses his cheek, "I'll go get the broom and clean it up. It was my fault anyway. Just make sure no one comes near here and cut themselves." Kevin watches him leave, his head still buzzing. 

Of course, he had always  _assumed_  that they loved each other, so it's not like this is breaking news. He could tell that Connor loved him, from the way his lips formed his name and the bright smile on his face each time he heard his voice and the reverent way he held his hand. 

But it's different—to actually hear him  _say it_. It's... _good_. It's fucking  _fantastic,_ actually _._

"Say it again." Kevin requests later that night. Arnold is staying over at Nabulungi's hut, so Connor and Kevin have pushed the two small beds flush together and stretched out on the mattresses. Kevin has his head resting on Connor's chest while the redhead boy is stroking his hair absently and humming an unfamiliar song under his breath. 

The hand in his hair pauses, but Connor doesn't hesitate, "I love you. Kevin Price, I love you  _very_  much. So much, I can't stand it sometimes."

Kevin fears that if he smiles any wider, he'll crack open his skull. Kevin turns his head and hides his face in Connor's chest.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to say it back tonight?" Kevin asks again, his voice a little muffled. It's not a question of whether he feels the same. They have always known how the other has felt. Kevin realizes that speaking it aloud is only semantics. They don't  _have_  to say it, but Connor had  _wanted_  to.

And Kevin  _wants_  to, too.

"Not tonight, if that's okay," Connor says, "I don't want to sound selfish, but I want to enjoy  _two_  moments like this."

"Okay." The stroking of his hair resumes, and Kevin is lulled to sleep by Connor's melodic hum and the touch of his hand.

:: - :: 

Kevin doesn't say it back until a month later. They're wearing shorts that have been repurposed as bathing suits and are pleasantly waterlogged from an afternoon of swimming. While the others continue to lounge by the pond, Kevin and Connor have migrated back to the shaded porch of their quarters for a break. Connor's nose and shoulders are already turning red from an early onset sunburn, and Kevin is  _trying_  not to be an ass but he can't help but flick his nose teasingly.

"Jerk." Connor calls him, rubbing the already tendering skin.

"You love me." Kevin reminds him, crowding him against the wall and kissing him. Connor makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat because Kevin usually balks at the idea of even holding hands in public—much less openly kissing.

"Why are you in such a saucy mood?" Connor asks as Kevin pulls away for air.

Kevin shrugs, "You look really hot in swimming trunks." The declaration makes Connor flush as deep as his sunburnt nose.

"That's a bold statement to make," Connor teases, sputtering a little, "Especially by someone who doesn't even know if he's attracted to me." Kevin cringes but joins Connor in snickering, relieved that they're able to  _joke_  about it now.

Kevin ducks his head and says directly in Connor's ear, silencing the boy's chuckles, "I'm not  _blind_. I can recognize beauty when I see it." 

He's so close, he can hear Connor swallow hard, "You know, you can still tease without  _being_  a tease."

Kevin slips his arms around Connor's waist and leans his head on his shoulder, "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Connor gently pushes him away, reinforcing the distance between them. Kevin smiles and nods in understanding. He walks over to the porch steps and sits down, beckoning Connor to join him. He does without a moment of hesitation and slips his hand into Kevin’s. They sit and watch the chatter and life of the village around them.

And Kevin is suddenly reminded of a time so distant yet so clear, of him sitting in this exact spot. He remembers being so scared and lost, of feeling so sorry for himself that he didn't give anyone a second thought.

But he _did_ give someone a second thought that day, and it was all because he had complimented his shit whittling and helped pluck splinters out of his hand. What would have happened, Kevin wonders, if Connor had ignored Kevin and just kept on walking? Would they have still ended up here eventually? Even though Kevin doesn't really believe in such things like _destiny_ and _God's grand pla_ n anymore, he certainly likes to think so.

"Why did you keep talking to me?" Kevin asks him and subsequently clarifies, "That first day, when I was making a Pinocchio."

Connor shrugs, answering honestly, "You seemed lonely." It's a simple answer, and it's not one that he had been expecting.

"I think I was," Kevin admits quietly after a beat of consideration, looking down at their intertwined hands, "I was pretty miserable then."

"You were spiraling," Connor helpfully informs him, "The other elders and I were worried about you." At Kevin's incredulous look, he explains, "You wouldn't take time off from work; you would only have polite conversation with people unless they were Sister Hatimbi and Arnold; you would isolate yourself from the group at every chance you got." He never even considered what he might have looked like to the others back then, so obsessed with being needed and depended on that everything else faded into the background.

"I think I might have been having a mental breakdown." Kevin says thoughtfully in retrospect.

Connor shrugs, "It happens to the best of us."

"Thank you," Kevin says after a short pause, "For talking to me that day. It helped, I think."

"Don't worry about it," Connor brushes it off, "After all, it helped me get a cute boyfriend."

He turns Kevin's hand over and exposes his palm, lightly running the tips of his fingers over the calloused surface. His smile is small but bright, "This was the hand that you hurt, right?"

Kevin really isn't sure, but he nods anyway. Connor doesn't hesitate to lift the palm to his lips and kiss it, the move so tender and innocent that it makes Kevin's heart leap in his throat. And Kevin can't possibly keep it in any longer, his chest splitting open and spilling out all the butterflies and the  _let-me-count-the-ways_  and the daydreams of latter days.

"I love you," Kevin tells him, his voice so raw and sincere that it takes him a beat too long to realize that it's himself, "I've loved you for so long. I don't really know when it happened." Connor stiffens, absurdly looking surprised. His cheeks flush, his heart skips, his skin prickles, his head buzzes. And then he smiles, like they've just shared some  _secret_ , and he squeezes Kevin's hand.

"You make me so happy, Kevin Price," Connor admits, his breath catching a little, "Sometimes I think I must have made you up."

The sun is shining and warm, and the birds are chirping, and the villagers are cursing and laughing, and Connor rubs his fingers over Kevin's knuckles, and he can't possibly think of anyone else that he'd rather spend all of his latter days with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter Hint: First Fight.  
> (And technically, I guess you could argue that last chapter had the first fight, but this one is going to have them both be assholes, so it's a little different).

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are really great and help me update faster.


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